chaotic order

Jottings  -  Slice of life -  439 ( The year 2020 for me -  part 4 -  the conclusion) A calendar year is only an agreed-upon convention for measuring time, as much as the lines of longitude and latitude are only imaginary lines around the earth. There is no intrinsic reality to any of them.  Nothing changes tonight at 12:00 PM.  The Earth is not going to pause for a few minutes, take a bow, and tremblingly announce across the galaxies that a new year has begun on a blue  ( Carl Sagan’s description of the Earth)dot in the cosmos. No! It will simply move on. It is a uniquely human trait to measure time chronologically. All other species live by the natural rhythms of nature, except Man. To us, the ticking of the clock, and the shifting days on the calendar — are more real than ourselves.  In 1752, when England decided to finally switch from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian, Englishmen had to “lose” twelve days to synchronize the calendar with the Gregorian calendar — which meant that

Jottings -  Slice of life -  438 ( The year 2020 for me  -  part 3) Of all the arts, Music is the most mysterious, baffling, and therapeutic. It is still least understood how a column of air set to vibration by a mechanical instrument transforms itself into tones, harmonies, and melodies inside the human brain; and even more astounding is the subjective emotional states it gives rise to. Why an elongated stretch of tonal arrangement makes one sad, why do notes strung together in a certain alliterative sequence make us happy or meditative; or equally, why should some musical phrases seem cacophonous or irritating to the ears. Even Darwin couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation of the purpose of music in the human species. In his epochal treatise the “the descent of man” he wrote in a resigned tone: “ As neither the enjoyment nor the capacity to produce musical notes are faculties of the least use to man…. they must be ranked among the most mysterious with which he is endowed”.  D

Jottings  -  Slice of life  - 437 ( The year 2020 for me  -  part 2) I believe that a man should take stock of his life in time slices of decades, and not in years. A decade, in my view, is a good stretch of time to take a step back and look at the journey of the self —  physically, intellectually, and emotionally. I have never seriously believed in New year resolutions.  Except in few rare individuals who are able to translate new year goals into action, resolutions made on the spur and excitement of a New Year’s Eve are often jumpy, impulsive, and frivolous with no greater goal in mind than few days of psychological satisfaction on having done the “right thing”. Not that I haven't indulged in this exercise myself, but was fortunate enough to realize the futility of it soon enough.   In 2020, I reached the end of my forties,  and certainly one of the most transformative decades of my life thus far. When I look at this period, I cannot help but feel, that my previous decades of exi

Jottings  -  Slice of life  -  436 ( The year 2020 for me -   part 1) The general feeling as we reach the end of 2020 is that we are unlikely to witness another year like this — perhaps, not in the lifetime of those of us who are in our forties or fifties. At least, that is our hope.  Looking back, when the year opened in January, little did anyone foresee the trajectory the next twelve months was to take. Except for a few secretive doctors and molecular biologists in Wuhan, China( working under strict orders), nobody else, I would think, had an inkling of the impending catastrophe that would bring the world on its knees.  Within a matter of few weeks beginning in late February, the virus found its way across international borders, infecting human bodies with a mathematical precision only an epidemic can achieve.   People around the world slowly, hesitatingly, and in many cases unbelievingly, awakened to the fact that a pandemic, a potentially deadly virus, was raging in their midst. 

Jottings  -  Slice of life - 434 ( “The Prom” -  a heartwarming movie, and romping performances by an ensemble cast) I have been watching Meryl Streep for at least thirty years, and I cannot remember a film where her performance was below par. In the annals of Hollywood, Streep has to be right at the top of the list. In over seventy-five movies, the sheer magic that she brought to each character she played,  the versatility and choice of her roles, her preparation and commitment, and flawless execution each time the director shouts “ shoot” —  is exemplary. Streep is not naturally blessed with an hourglass figure or blonde hair, but it doesn’t matter.  She transforms herself to become beautiful when the character needs to, and that is the hallmark of a genius.  Just as a chameleon changes color and translucency when it slithers into a new environment; Streep can, at a moment’s notice, change her entire demeanor as the scene demands. This complete transformation and absorption into each

Jottings  -  Slice of life  -  435 - ( The art behind short stories and movie anthologies, and the failure of “Paava Kathaigal” to find its mark) Writing a short story can be much more challenging than crafting a full-length novel. As Clifton Fadiman, the acclaimed anthologist and writer,  wrote in the preface to his magnificent collection of short stories published in 1986: “A good short story has to be a masterpiece in miniature”. Rarely in literature would you find a writer adept at both the forms: A James Joyce,  a GK Chesterton, an E. M.  Foster - perhaps. They were exceptions and not the rule. The art of condensing an interesting slice of life, encapsulating a symbolic moment within a few pages, etching out a character with a few broad strokes of one’s pen, the necessity to set the stage, progress the story, and conclude it with sufficient aesthetic release within a limited span of words — needs a very specific set of literary and storytelling skills.  Great writers, generally, e

Jottings  -  Slice of life  -  431 ( few personal meditations on thankfulness and thanksgiving) Saying Thank you is not easy; I mean, really meaning what one says. The words roll out of our tongue mechanically, casually, a million times in the course of our lives, as an obligation, or as exciting a social contract. We are prone to unconsciously using thank you to maintain a persona. It makes us look cultured, well mannered, decent — civil perhaps. When we say it,  we put on a gentle smile, the tone involuntarily becomes warm, mellowed, and ingratiating —  giving the words an artificial touch of warmth and a sense of make-believe that the words emanate from the depths of our whole being when it only springs from the shallow depths of our vocal cords as a habitual reflex and nothing more. Half the time, our thank you seem to mean nothing at all except as a ploy to amicably conclude a conversation and move on to something else or cut short an awkward social meeting, or to lull someone int

Jottings  -  Slice of life - 430 ( Soorarai Pottru ( praise the brave ) -  a liberal cinematic interpretation of Captain Gopinath’s airline revolution in India. A good watch.) Of all the art forms, Cinema is unique in the sense — to learn,  interpret, and internalize the subtleties of the craft, one needs to apprentice under an experienced director. This requirement of studying under a master is no doubt true of all art forms, but the art of cinema, unlike music, dance or painting - is not just about refining and perfecting a solitary skill, but an understanding and assimilation of a multitude of skills ranging from taut screenplay to crisp dialogues, to soliciting good acting performances, to precise editing, to mesmerizing music, to visually appealing cinematography and much more. It often takes time, patience, and passion along with a relentless commitment to learning the craft in its entirety. An aspiring director often spends years together under a master before they are confident

The light this Diwali will bring is special. Never before in recent memory have we struggled so much with darkness and uncertainty, as we have this year. A shroud of anxiety has gripped the world, and it is fair to say, for millions of people the year 2020 has been a dark period. It is nine months since an epidemic chose to surreptitiously seep into our lives, and change the very way we live and work. And now, as we near the end of this chronological year, we hope, the tide will change soon, and all of us will emerge transformed and wise in many ways than before. The Holiday season in the West begins soon, and in India, Diwali marks the end of a long list of religious festivals that punctuate the calendar. A million lamps will be lighted this weekend across the nation, in every village and every city, and their collective luminosity will brighten the skies, the earth, the hearts of countless people, and more importantly, we hope the light will extinguish the penumbra of darkness, restl

It is ironic that Ian Fleming, the creator of the James Bond series, never intended his protagonist to be the dashing, debonair looking spy he eventually became. It is just one of those quirks of literary history that the character eventually metamorphosed into one. Fleming’s intention was to create a dull, uninteresting spy to whom things always “happened” — a blunt instrument of fate — as Fleming told a reporter in 1953. In fact, he chose to name the British spy James Bond because Fleming felt the name had a boring, lackluster, and almost flat ring to it. As a boy, Fleming was an avid bird watcher, and one of his favorite books was “The birds of the West Indies” by an American ornithologist named James Bond - a lackadaisical academic name ( at least that’s how the name sounded to Ian Fleming) and christened his hero with it. Fleming was a member of the British Naval intelligence and a wartime journalist during the second world war, and therefore he knew firsthand the intrigues of wa

“We do not have to become heroes overnight, Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up, seeing it is not as dreadful as it appears, discovering that we have the strength to stare it down.” Eleanor Roosevelt ( from Doris Kearn’s Brilliant book “ No ordinary time”) Leaders are often evaluated only in retrospect. While they are in charge, their actions, policies, character, and decisions dissolve into the daily din and grind of living. It is difficult to see their actions in perspective in the present moment; only when they relinquish office the weight of history begins to bear upon them, and their legacy. It is then that people look back upon the tenure that has just passed, and try to understand the impact of the incumbent on the people and the ecosystem, and extricate meaning from the actions taken. It is from this perspective that history is always written, discussed, and passed on to posterity. This pedagogy of assessment, reflection, and judgm

On the evening of 3rd of December 1926, a thirty-six-year-old Agatha Christie, by then, a fairly established novelist, kissed her sleeping daughter goodbye and walked out of her house in Surrey. Her car was later found perched precariously over a cliff with a few tattered clothes and an expired driving license and nothing else; the whereabouts of Christie herself was unknown. At the time of this episode, Christie had three mystery novels to her credit, in which the enigmatic and punctilious Belgian Hercule Poirot featured as the detective. Just a month earlier, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” had been published — a Poirot mystery that captivated the reading public for its startling conclusion. She had become a national celebrity. So when her car was found in a desolate place, and Christie was nowhere to be found, a nationwide frantic hunt began, with the entire police constabulary combing the country for any indication of her — alive or dead. Christie’s husband had asked for a div