Tagged: Reasons why I blog (edited)

Even I got tagged. Because I was the first person to visit a buddy's blog. Or atleast, because I was the first honest person to. hehe!

Well, Now that I think about it (and it suddenly seems necessary to think hard before answering the question) it could be the following:

1. Because I have to write. Because I need to think in words, and not just images. Because I love it when I write something beautiful (yupp, call it what you want, even naivety, but I do like reading most of the stuff Iv written in the past) Because I love arranging words in my own order. And because Im better off writing considering that these days, just opening my mouth to speak spells as disaster, with all the ways I manage to miscommunicate my poor innocent thoughts. Now, if you ask me whether this is the order I love arranging words into, well, lets think of it as an exception, though it does make sense to me.

2. Because words, when written are not arrows which cannot be taken back. You can edit it, beautify it, then publish, and even better, withdraw it, if you feel you were out of your mind when you wrote it.

3. Because on my blog, I can write what I want to write, rather than what someone else wants to read. Of course, I do end up writing sane stuff, and sometimes saner stuff, but the knowledge that you can!

4. Because blogs, to me represents one of the last remnants of an ideal world. Where everybody has their own free space, and in abundance. Where life is not a zero sum game. Where I dont have to trample my brothers aspirations to reach my destination. Where to be recognised, nobody else has to be ignored

5. And finally, because my best friends mails either start with or end with "Where IS blog post?" or "I want blog post!" Say what...

Now for reading this far, one, thanks, and two, you get tagged! The Tag :- Why wouldnt you paint your face black? (answer here)

Nailed to the idea

How we love our brainchild's! Sometimes, when our methods fail, we go on a spree of reason-finding. But we cleverly weed out any suggestion that would coax us to abandon our ideas! I particularly loved this story i came across a few days ago.

This is the story of Hyman Leobowitz, a man who came from across the Iron curtain to make a living in the land of opportunity, by carrying on his family trade, making nails. He struggles for decades, finally carving his own niche in the industry -all the while growing old and weak- till his wife suggests that maybe, it was time to hand over his business to his son.

Reluctantly, the man puts his son in charge, arranges for weekly reports to be sent to him, and retires somewhere down south.

Barely a few months into his retirement, filled with weeks of negative reports, he decides he has to go back to see where his son was wrong. So he boards a flight to New Jersey. On the way to his sons factory, he notices this huge billboard with the picture of Jesus crucified, and a thundering legend - "They used Leobowitz nails"!

He storms into his sons office and shouts "Do you know what you are doing? I built this business over fifty years with sweat". But his son assures him that he would take care of this. So he retires back to Florida.

Still the weekly reports are depressing as ever. Finally he decides he has to make the trip once again. Just as he gets off his plane, he sees another signboard. This time, there was an empty cross, and low and behold, Jesus is crumbled beneath, and the caption "They didn't use Leobowitz nails"!

Thank you, dear Utan!

"If a smart person goes into a room with an orangutan and explains whatever his or her idea is, the ape just sits there and eats his banana - but at the end of the explanation, the person with the idea comes out smarter".

That's the 'Orangutan Theory' for you. I mean, the one by Charlie Munger, investment manager at Berkshire Hathaway, or even more famously, partner of the legendary Warren Buffet,
(You'll be sorry if you did a google search to read more about the theory, because all it will tell you is the disgusting truth that your earliest ancestors were, well, apes!)

Going by experience, I feel nothing can be closer to the truth. I spend loads of effort trying to convince someone of my theories, and at the end of it, I find that it was only then that I had understood the entire logic of my argument.

In fact, everytime I write something, I start off bent on educating the ignorant 'rest of the world', but often I find out that I was the one who was being taught by myself!

So this, is a big Thank You, to all my blog buddies, who've bothered to check in here, and kept me putting something in this space regularly......

By the way, tell me how it feels to be an orangutan!

More than a song

Yesterday I spent some time in a catholic chapel nearby for some time. Not for religious reasons. No, I didn’t even go there to pray. I just happened to be lured there by some music that was an absolute treat to the senses.

Well, deluded at having had two days of holidays on the trot and completely wasted it (yeah sleeping on a holiday is tantamount to wastage, in my opinion) and roaming the balcony in the hope that the evening breeze would carry the ‘stupid’ feeling away when I heard this same song that I woke up to every Tuesday and Saturday morning. Only, then Id be too lazy to dress and go and sit there for half an hour before leaving for office.

But yesterday, I had this sudden urge to go and meet this organist and tell him how soothing his playing was. I did. Predictably, he was overjoyed (for not often do people congratulate pianists) And then, he told me his story. He used to play in that church since the time anyone could remember (he was now 70). Then he met with with an accident. Being reduced to one hearing ear and one seeing eye, and lost the senses in his right thumb and two other fingers of his left hand, he still continues to play.

For some people, handicaps only serve to bring out the sweetest fragrance that is in them. They are the ones who take life as a challenge, rather than crib about the unfairness of it all.

Well, I wouldn’t be telling you this if it were not for this tiny thought I had during the service. They were singing a song that went, “I just keep trusting my Lord, as I walk along.” when I thought, 'what does my spiritually mean to me today?' Maybe it was another way of asking a question that I was grappling with for a few weeks now. True, there was prayer. There was bible reading. There wasn’t as much of bathroom singing, but anyway I was doing enough of other singing. There was church, which I really enjoyed (because of the improved choir). There was talking about God, telling the world about the amazing things He did for me over the last few months. There was philosophising, as to how God wanted me to live, as an example to everyone around. There was cheering, putting up a smile always, being a godchild of choice, yeah, Really!

But there still was a big void that was making me uncomfortable. And I simply couldn’t get the voice out to sing along with that song. A feeling of unworthiness. Anyways, the service got over, and after talking to the organist, I went back to my room, and wanting to simply pray, I felt the need to sing a song. And I felt like singing a lovely song, “Heart of worship” by a person by the name Matt Redman.

This song was written as the result of an outcome of a challenge posed by a pastor in an English church. In spite of having all the components that make modern worship what it is, the congregation kept feeling that something was ‘up’ with the worship. At first, it seemed difficult to point a finger at what was wrong. On the surface, everything was as usual. The musicians were tuning their instruments; the worship leader was doing just fine. Each service contained a block of songs that were directed towards the cross and gave the chance for people to get down to business with God. Yet they couldn’t help feeling they had lost the spark.
Slowly they started noticing. Even in the worship, all the importance was for the act of worship -The singing, the singers, the preachers- rather than the Worshipped. They were going through the motions, but their hearts were far from Him!

That was when the pastor of the church made the brave decision to dispose of with the sound system, and all the instruments used in the worship. They were challenged to ask themselves individually, 'When I come through the door of the church, what am I bringing as my contribution to worship?'

They ‘fired’ their song leader. They decided that if ‘noone brought a sacrifice of praise, they would meet in silence’. Soon people started singing songs acapella, and the rest would join in and follow it with another song. The service began to have more involvement and went back to being a blessing.

That was when the lead singer, Matt Redman wrote this song from his experience at the church.

When the music fades and all is stripped away

and I simply come.

Longing just to be something that’s of worth

that will bless Your heart.

I'll bring You more than a song, for a song in itself

is not what You have required.

You search much deeper within, through the way things appear,

Your looking into my heart.

I'm coming back to the heart of worship

and its all about You, its all about You, Jesus.

I'm sorry, Lord, for the thing I've made it

when its all about You, its all about You, Jesus

Well, singing this song yesterday, I recognised what was wrong. Not just for me, but for most of the organised Christian groups, that are forever complaining that they are not getting anything out of the worship. Somewhere along the way, our worship became the the preaching, the charm of the preacher, the singing, the choir, and a horde of other things. It was fine in the beginning, but gradually, we lost sight of the One we went to worship.

We still went on, attending worship and prayers without getting anything out of it, till one day we found ourselves in need of spiritual guidance, but the church had no more life to give it to us.

Its not just the church. All of us, in all our religions, what have we made of God? Just another topic to philosophise on? Just another being to pray to, to support our insufficiencies? Just another person in whose name we seek to gratify our ego’s?

God, if he indeed is maker, if He indeed is Omni-whatever, deserves much more than what we give give Him. Or rather, I feel He’d rather have just the simple stuff. Just a nod upwards and a wave “Hey there, thanks for being around. I love you”, rather than all the philosophies. Rather than all the things we do in His name, for Him. More than just a song. A heart of personal relationship with Him

Overgrown Baby

You cant help growing up, but you can help not maturing!

There was a time when we used to be called babies, children and more recently adolescents. Somehow, they give the feeling of patronising. As if you still ought to be let off in spite of your doings. After all, 'they cant be like this all their lives, can they'? Thank God for his infinite mercies. We all had grandparents and distant relatives. Otherwise it would be just parents, parents and teachers.

But then, even they expect you to grow up. When you reach, maybe, 20. When you are old enough to start working. Or for Gods sake, atleast after you’ve started working.

Teenager is not a name that fits you perfectly. So they don’t call you that. Oh forget it, they wouldn’t even want to call you that! The kind-hearted resort to consoling everyone saying they will mature soon. 'After all, they don’t have a family to support, and they are atleast improving'. The more cynical claim they’re just hopes crumbled. Black sheep!

And of course, not to mention the other three quarters of 20-something people in the world. The ones who do exactly what is expected of them. Who graduate after studying the most brainy of sciences (no insult intended), who get into the jobs in the poshest offices and who wait for their mothers to find them a wives!

For some inexplicable reason, I seem to attract the first mentioned set of people than the other three quarters, for not a few times has whichever group I am in been called a bunch of “Overgrown babies” (and I love that term). Now that’s actually surprising considering that many folks picture a long faced, sober, kill-joy when I am mentioned.

But reflecting on it, I couldn’t help noticing that the nomenclaturing is relatively recent, and started much after I graduated from being eligible to be called “teenager”.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help pondering about how I changed. Externally, there wasn’t much of a difference, was there? I still was sober, hopelessly old fashioned when it came to appearance. Relatively outdated when it came to likes such as movies or music. So, then what? My two trips back home earlier this year gives me few answers. Let me tell you what changed.

Being at home is different. Oh no, I mean, being at home for a short vacation is blissfull. Even mom, of all people, rarely, if ever, shouts at you. Whatever small things you do, like helping out in the kitchen, is appreciated. The mess you create is ignored. Don’t mention the food. It is literally a feast for family.

But the best part is the laughing that happens. Never was life at home so fun filled as those days. Who said you needed reasons to laugh? Of course, having a born comedian for a brother, and a sister whose career ambition’s seem to be making others laugh at her, helps!

But that’s not just all about it. It was just being young at heart, and preparing to enjoy the things the rest of your group enjoys.

Like reading Brer Rabbit along with the sis, and laughing, and then fighting over which story to read next together (the argument, predictably, is along the lines of who has read the next story how many times how many years ago).

Like watching Tom and Jerry, and laughing like 10 year old’s (well.. what else does one do watching Tom and Jerry), oblivious to the fact that its just not fair (hey its always the tiny mouse that wins), laughing because life is just as fair as we make it out to be, so it doesn’t really matter.

Like listening to the young girls version of the story of Macbeth, and insisting she read out from the original text (yes, that thick black ‘complete works’, which, once upon a time, made my favourite books list) whenever I didnt agree.

Like singing all those old songs (with the portions of the lyrics that memory was smart enough to retain), trying to teach songs, refusing to learn, fighting over it, and then complaining to the higher authority, you know who!

Like peeing in the backyard (thank God again for a backyard and all the greenery) in spite of all the other males at home using only toilets.

like waking up whenevr you wanted. Waking up to bed-coffee or breakfast. Like sitting up late night trading useless stories. Like wandering around seeing all those faces you simply couldnt remember in the din that was 'life'!

Like imagining you are still the 10 year old who first came to live in Kerala. Making up for all the years wasted pretending you was something Important. Whereas you were just a speck in a mighty desert. And what was expected of you was to enjoy today. Not worry about ten years hence!