#YouTube #Gotitwrong

I was just playing some music on YouTube and a funny thing happened. Mid-playlist, there came on one of those ubiquitous, unnecessary ads. I was surprised it was an ad for Santoor. Talc, or some such. But what really got me was that the ad was in Gujarati. “Yes, I have recently moved to Gujarat, YouTube, but how did you know that?” was what I was thinking. 

I had recently booked flight tickets to Ahmedabad as well as several other train and bus tickets for my travel last week, and YouTube had, through its convenient link to Google’s databases, sniffed out my itinerary and deciphered, quite correctly, that I must be living in Gujarat now.  All snooty, futuristic, uber-modern-digital-marketing aside, “You got it WRONG, YouTube. There were so many ways for you to get it right, but you didn’t.  

I may be living in Gujarat, but that does not automatically imply that I know the language! As a matter of fact, I don’t! 

You could have used the information you so secretively (or perhaps, not-so-secretively: who knows what agreements you have both got me to “Agree to” over the years) acquired from your parent’s coffers to hit me with perhaps an ad of a product type that suited my travel needs. Clearly I had been doing rather a lot. Or, if you really wanted to use the Gujarati angle, try hitting me with, say, a Gujarati brand ad, but in Hindi. I was in Delhi for nearly 7 months. Did you not know that from Facebook? 

Even if you didn't, Hindi is fairly commonly understood in Gujarat. If you were trying to target a lower, and hence, more massive slab of the SEC pyramid using the regional language to relate to me better with me (Santoor does presumably target a lower SEC consumer base), you got it wrong anyway for two reasons: that’s not my SEC slab and the Gujarati tongue holds no significance for me. 

But, even if you weren't, you would be providing more of a “value-added” service to your ad clients by tailoring your technique to select an ad for me that I could understand. That would be more relevant to me, the viewer, than an ad that I couldn't understand. If you like, show me an Adani ad; I’ll even take that as “relevant media placement”. At least, the Adanis ARE from Gujarat. As such, they have great presence around the city. Supplementing their out of home media plan with digital reach would contribute to Adani’s brand building effort. I, the target in this case, am not in fact an immediate prospect as a source of sales, or income for them. But there’s such a thing as salience, which is the necessary first step for brand building. You, as a front-runner in the digital marketing space, ought to be able to provide to your clients this at the very least. With a Gujarati Santoor ad, you got it all wrong.”

It’s funny. It is. J

Obsessive Compulsive Disorders

Speaking to a friend, I realised that OCD, or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, if you look closely, and perhaps against your expectations, is present in every one of us, to some extent. We were relating our own experiences with OCD to each other, which led to some funny tales. I care enough to record some of them here.

You know when you're locking the door? And you put the key in the padlock hole and turn it around, the lock clicks heavily into place and you feel it in your hands. You know the job's done but then again, is it? Is the lock really locked or is it just pretending? Maybe its just a mechanical tick - an anomaly - and doesn't really mean the lock clicked into place at all. So you pull the lock a little more to check if it really is locked, downwards, sharply. It is. You turn to leave. But wait, is the lock really around the hook? There's no other hook or hole anywhere near but maybe you've just hooked it onto the bloody door handle. You check to see if the lock's around the hook then, bending a little to do so. It is. But wait, is the handle bolted down? Lifty lift - check. And you leav... wait, is the bolt in the wall hole? Is it? Push a little - all the way through. Yeah. Lets leave.

Ever had this mental itch when you're walking down a tiled floor? There are cracks between the tiles. They're black. They look deep. Maybe they run all the way through the floor and through the Earth crust all the way through to it's core. And if you step on it, you may just fall through. You avoid them altogether, placing your foot carefully on the centre of each tile if they're small (the tiles), or spacing two or more steps equally from either end of the tile if they're bigger.

Hindu mythology (or do I mean religion? I feel another blog on mythology versus religion coming up) has it that paper is Vidya, or knowledge, which is sacred. It's the form of a Goddess as well. So, Hindu tradition is to never offend any form of paper. Indian culture (and presumably most oriental cultures) considers it an irreverent act if one's feet touch anything holy or divine. Occasionally, when you're lying in bed, probably just lazing around and there are a few newspapers lying at the bottom of the bed. Your feet, in one regrettable movement brush the newspapers. And now you're in a dilemma because you must get up and kiss the newspaper to show your penance for having disrespected it but the problem is you really don't want to get off the bed. Your cultural conditioning keeps nagging at the back of your mind as you fight to keep it at bay, until you finally succumb and do the deed.

Shoelace tying, just after we've learnt how to do it. You're tying them by yourself (now) and you make the knot. You're not so happy with it somehow. The two loops don't feel the same strength. One's tighter, the other's looser, a tiny bit - no a little bit, more - yeah that much tighter, loser. You've got to equal them out. They must be the same. Pull a little, tug a little, now a little that way, done! Are they the same length - those loops? Bah, never mind. Let's go to school.

Grand

I have always been inspired by grandness. I am intensely interested in cosmology and I believe it is the grandness of space that enthralls me. It is the undeniable and overwhelming power manifest in its size, its complexities, its strangeness that draws me to space. It is both mysterious and mystical. For many, space is a challenge, the next quest. In its dark depths, we feel like we may find answers to our own questions. We feel we may even be able to understand the mind of God if we understand space. But for me, more than all this, it is the awe space inspires in me - by virtue of its grandeur and its grandness - that truly excites me. Space, in all its infinite glory, is ultimate, unconquerable, incomparable.

Recently, I have been doing a lot of reading on current affairs in preparation for some interviews. In the course of this preparation, I started reading about the Arab Spring. I read about the Burning Man - one Tunisian, Mohamed Bouazizi - who set himself to fire as a mark of protest against the civil discrimination he was being dealt by the local authorities. That singular incident set off a series of protests and civil demonstrations against the unjust autocratic rule Tunisia had been subject to for so many years. Egypt, Libya, Algeria, Syria, Yemen, and several other countries followed in the wake of Tunisia. Some of the protests turned violent. The total death toll is expected to be around 38,000 - 39,000, roughly. That many people have died, gone, poof! For what? For justice, to demand what is rightly theirs - and they won't even be around to enjoy those rights now. But their fellow countrymen will. Such unselfish acts are unheard of. But I err. We have heard of such acts. Bhagat Singh, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, Chandra Shekhar Azad - all died for our independence. Perhaps I am dulled to those acts of martyrdom because I have grown up reading about them. But what is happening around us today is current, to be written in history books some day. History is being made right now. And so I am more greatly affected by the current uprisings - what some are calling the "fourth wave of democracy". These events involve so many lives, they are such great events, so grand, that for the first time, I am feeling inspired and awed by another kind of grandness.

I know what makes space grand. But what makes these current uprisings grand? Is it the landmark changes they will make to word history? Is it that they are global events, potentially shaping all our futures? The one definite answer I could think of was the sheer humanitarian spirit of these movements. It is like a virus - started by one act of self-immolation - and now spread, like a plague, to several millions across borders. So many human lives revolve around the outcome of these events that the total worth associated with those outcomes becomes dangerously close to infinite. If there is a God, here is something He's going to have to take very, very seriously. And so, there is a comparison to space after all. And that is a human life.

When man first looked up at the skies and tried to make sense of what he saw in the movement of the stars, he concluded that the Earth, with man on it, was at the center of our solar system. The Sun, the Moon, and all the other planets moved around the Earth. It's called ego-centrism and it's our natural condition. But as our understanding of the Universe progressed, we realized not only are we not at the center of the solar system, we're not at the center of anything. The Sun is at the center of the solar system. The Earth is the third planet that revolves around the Sun. The solar system, itself, lies on an outer spiral arm called the Orion arm of our Milky Way galaxy. Where our galaxy lies with respect to the center of the Universe is anyone's guess, (for we're yet to find that center). In other words, science is telling us we're not as special as we once believed. Our sun accounts for 99.9 percent of the mass of the solar system. That means the Earth, one of the smaller planets, accounts for a fraction of 0.1 percent of the mass. And so you can imagine how very minuscule a human being is with respect to the solar system. Now think of a human being with respect to the Universe. Exactly.

We are like a fraction of a whiff as far as the Universe is concerned. If one day we all went missing, the Universe would not even notice. But as puny as we humans are, as little as we matter in the grander, material scope of things, collectively, human lives inspire the same awe in us as space itself. It must mean that on some level, we are equal to space, capable of matching up to it's grandness. Don't they say - great things come in small packages? We may not have lots of mass or be in a privileged geographical location, but we are capable of affecting change - in other people, and even in the Universe itself. The Arab Spring is testimony to that.
We, are grand.

Lal Bahadur

Ever notice how all rickshaw drivers look the same? Cab and bus drivers, courier delivery guys, pizza delivery boys, pani puri and vada pav bhaiyyas, cigarette walas - they all invariably look the same! They all have separate and unique lives, each as complex and rich in detail as our own. They each have their share of all life's joys: responsibilities, love, loss, celebration, death. And yet, how easily we club them into one common denominator. We never really notice how diverse and rich each life is. That's how we are made to function. How about stopping to spare a smile, a heartfelt thank you? How about asking them what's going on in their lives? There's such a wealth of knowledge behind each of these common faces - so much we could learn, so much we could know.

While I was living in Bombay in Khar, I had slipped into the expensive habit of cabbing it to work every morning. There were a bunch of cab drivers who were always around my house - the same ones everyday. And because I saw them everyday I slowly learnt to tell one face from another. There was one particular cab driver among these with whom I traveled most often. His name was Lal Bahadur. He was an old, fat little man with a small frame and a kind face. He always wore the same white kurta pyjama - looking freshly laundered and then increasingly soiled with every passing day until the cycle would repeat.

Now as a rule, I do not generally engage in conversation with my cab and rickshaw drivers (they can sometimes get too talkative and I like my quiet). But since Lal Bahadur had been dropping me to work quite often lately, I did not particularly mind when he once asked me if it was an office that I went to every morning. We got to talking after that. I told him quite a lot more about my life than I normally would to a stranger. He was mighty impressed that I was a girl living alone in the city, away from my parents, and working in an "office". I think at one point he asked me the name of the company that hired me and when that did not strike a bell with him, he asked what it was that we did. I was at quite a loss to try and explain Advertising to him and remember floundering around, saying "TV" quite a lot - the only word I was sure he'd understand. Lal Bahadur, in turn, shared his life story with me. He was from a small village somewhere in Uttar Pradesh, and had come to Bombay, like so many others, to make money. We live such sheltered lives that there is something about a truth such as this one that really hits home when you hear it from an individual who has actually experienced it - like being in a war or being witness to a bomb explosion, or being a refugee in the Partition. I knew, I'd heard, the newspapers talked about it all the time - the city was such a lure for so many folks from rural India - how, every year, so many of them come here with starry eyed expectation, only to end up being drivers or peons, or, if they're very lucky, little chai stall owners. Hearing Lal Bahadur talk about just this somehow made the fact a little more real to me.

He told me how he had a daughter who was working with SBI bank, and when he told me she was an "officer" with the bank, his voice shook with pride and emotion. I realised he had such a different perspective of things. To him, his daughter had "made it", and she'd hit the jackpot working for a public sector bank - such a very reputed one. To you and me, that seems like a minor accomplishment. Because we've been born into financially stable families, bred by English-medium schools, to us, this seems unworthy of ambition. We have grander meanings associated with that word. Ambition to us is spearheading a big multinational company, or making a speech on television or migrating to a richer country. Its funny, but although Lal Bahadur's definition of the word is so warped compared to our own, our ambitions are probably never going to be realised whereas his already are.

He drives his big Omni around the city with such pride in his eyes, such happiness in his heart. Am I saying one must lower one's expectations from oneself in order to ensure they are achieved? Of course not. For Lal Bahadur, this was the highest expectation he could have placed upon himself and upon his daughter. And yet, he achieved it all. So, by comparison, doesn't it seem like he's a bigger achiever than any of us? We may have fancy clothes to wear, and fancy offices to go to, while he wears the same kurta pyjama everyday and toils the streets of the city in his little black and yellow car, dropping important people to important places. Yet, he shines brighter than me. He shines brighter than all of us. He has achieved what he set out to do, while we haven't even come close.

I salute you, Lal Bahadur. 

Believe

I'm reading my favorit-est book, Twilight. Reading about Bella Swan who fell in love with Edward Cullen. Twilight, the inescapable phenomenon that is the vampire love story that is so loved...

And so hated. It saddens me, really, that there are haters; that there are people who want to stay away from fantasy, afraid that if they give it a chance they might actually end up believing in it. They'd rather stay grounded, stick to reality. Cowards. I'd rather believe. I'd rather live in fairyland. Its about taking the leap of faith. It saddens me that so many people are afraid to do that. 

This isn't your average definition of what is intellectual, they think. It’s just a silly story that a silly girl thought of. Her fantasies. Condensed in prose. In the form of an ill-famed bestseller storybook.

But I’m not here to defend the popular Edward Cullen against the haters. This isn’t meant to act as a saviour against the vandalism for Twilight and for Edward. What I do want to defend is the act of believing. Because I don't think it is un-intellectual to believe.

As children, we believed a lot. We believed in Santa Claus, we believed in magic tricks, we believed in the power of good over evil, we believed the princess always got her prince. What happened to all that belief along the way? We grew up and it is annoying and extremely depressing to me that a lot of us today seem to have forgotten how to believe anymore. 

If this is what growing up does to you, I urge you, haters, to please un-grow, to un-learn. Believing is like a primal instinct but you've buried it under all this tarnish - all the many years of wisdom that education and the society has brought on you. Uncover it! Let it shine!

It's in you, somewhere. I think we all fantasize about an Edward or a Bella. I think we all want him or her in our lives. We’re always on the look out. It's out constant subterfuge. We hope. We know, from history, from legends, that hope kills. Remember Pandora’s box? But we hope, in spite of it all. And then, we give up. Like some of my erstwhile friends. They think there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship. “Compromise!”, they say, before you‘re too late and end up a spinster in your fifties, just waiting endlessly. They've grown up, forgotten how to believe. And I don’t like it. I belong to the other group: The believers.

I say: Believe! Think of Peter Pan and of Wendy! “I do believe in fairies! I do, I do!” Belief can cure all. Believe. And maybe the impossible will happen! Don’t give up! Your Edward or your Bella is out there, just about on the verge of losing hope, like you are! Don’t! Cause if you do, there’s nothing to keep you going. It will happen. He or she will come. The reality around you is a farce and it’s killing you. All your childhood dreams, all your aspirations are dying a slow death, everyday. So forget reality. Forget being wise or rational or intellectual. Forget the prejudice. Take the leap! Believe!

Edward, I wait.

Forbidden

Forbidden fruit. Shy love. Stolen glances. Murmured intentions. The exasperating desires for an unattainable something. Slowly, he grew and grew until he became a mammoth preying on my thoughts all the time. It was inescapable, inevitable, weighing me down.

*********

It was a hot day. I bought a thin white dress. It had long, printed pockets and a small tie up below the bust. It was pretty.

The dress made me happy. I swirled on the spot showing it off. I was at the beach, laughing in the sun. And then, I was not. The front porch of a bungalow was before me. It was late evening and the fading sunlight, filtered through the branches of the surrounding trees, was soft and jaded. I stopped swirling. He was there, looking my way. Water flew in the brick fountain behind me as he walked toward me. I seized up as time seemed to slow down. He made slow but deliberate progress as every step closed the metres, feet, inches between us.

And then he was so close I could smell him, almost, taste him. My sight blurred. He raised his right hand, all the while holding my gaze and I knew he would place it on my waist.

But then, the dream broke and I awoke sweating.

**A/N: I've picked this up from a short story I've been working on, called Forbidden, which is based on a young girl's unrelenting obsession with an older man. As it progresses, I might post more stand alone bits here. This is the first. :)

Choosing

All through school, I've been a model student. I had perfect grades right from the start. My whole life used to be centered around trumping all my peers in our exams. This wasn't by choice. My mother had a huge role to play, personally teaching me in my early years and strictly monitoring me as I grew up. She was the one who lighted the competitive fires in me and then carefully nurtured them. She hated to lose. Beyond that, it was her conviction that all knowledge was to be attained in books. I suspect she even believed it was righteous to pursue that knowledge and that not doing so would be nothing short of blasphemy. She ensured I never wavered from her chosen path for me. She wasn't disappointed. That is, until the year 2002.

2002 was the year that I was to appear in my tenth Board exams. All my life's work had been leading up to this point. I started classes for the tenth Boards while I was still in ninth standard. I was expected to be amongst the top achievers. Academics gained a new significance that year, more than I had thought possible in my already textbook-crowded world. And it wasn't just us model students who were taking it seriously. Even the academic nobodies of the school were suddenly answering questions in class, scoring top marks in surprise class tests - the works. I was insecure. It would be fate giving us a big fat slap across our faces if, at the end of the day, a non-topper took the cake in the exam that mattered most. The competition had never been fiercer.

I knew this. I knew I really had no choice in the matter but to work my hardest ever. Unfortunately for me, that was the year I decided to "discover myself". Worst. Timing. Ever. I couldn't afford being a teenager at the time. But the deed was done. The ball had been set rolling and there was no going back or putting it on hold for a year until the exams were over.

Let me explain the dilemmas I was facing. I had been an obedient daughter all my life: always studying, never wasting time, always doing the right thing - a good girl. But goodness had been imposed on me, giving me no choice in the matter. Professor Dumbledore said once, "It is not our abilities that decide who we are, but our choices." Surely, being good because you did not know another way of life was different from choosing to be good over being bad. I didn't want to be bad. I wanted to be able to choose to be good. I wanted to be able to choose to study for my Boards. But I was never given the choice.

Naturally, my heart never in it, I didn't exactly ace the exam. I scored well but it wasn't the top ten ranks. It was a huge let down for my parents. On the day of my results, which were to be announced in the school, we came home and cried together, as a family.

I know me today a little better because of that one year. I would have hated me if I had just gone ahead and studied simply because I was told to. I would've hated me if I had topped that exam.

I honestly believe today that it really doesn't matter if we do something without ever choosing to. It is as good as if, we didn't do anything at all. It doesn't matter if you go to work everyday at nine in the morning or get married at twenty eight or visit the temple with your mother on Janmashtmi - unless you choose to. The worst possible reason for doing anything is that you must.

I do not blame my mother in any way for imposing her will on me. I love my mother very dearly. It was her way of teaching me. But I do know this: Your choices will make who you are. And you will never know what choices you would make unless you know who you are. So choose! Choose to work hard at your job. Choose to quit and paint. Choose to get married because it would make your parents happy. Choose to wait for your soul-mate. Choose to believe in God. Choose to not believe in God. Choose.