I just don’t understand. For the past twenty nine years of my life, I have slogged my bones out. My hair is all gray, my knees are weak and my skin is burnt out. Well, that is obviously bound to happen if one spends their life under the sun. Every season, even when I was sick, I have ploughed the fields myself. During planting and harvesting, I have never cared a damn about getting into the muck. Why? To save one labourer’s coolie! He earns in a single month what I manage to scrub through in six months. Greedy moneylenders, cheating procurers, stupid government officers… no, nothing! How much have we been through? When he was born, I did not have a single penny; the jewellery had to be pawned. Thankfully, we were better off when the second one arrived. But we still had to sell a bit of the land to pay for her operation. And he has company provided insurance! I just don’t understand.

This is nothing but madness, the folly of youth. If I don’t save him from his delusional ideas now, he himself will accuse me when he comes back to his senses.

“No. You are not quitting. This is what you will do – You will go to that air-conditioned office of yours, do whatever they ask you to do and get your salary at the end of every month. We will get you married in two years.”

Appa – father (typically Dravidian)
coolie – Usually refers to a labourer. In TN, it is also used to refer to wages; usually a day’s wage of a labourer

“Pranav. I am going home. If Martin calls, tell him that I left. I will mail him too.”

“OK”

“I am unable to work. I don’t think I will be able to complete this today even if I sit here for another six hours.”

“Try and come early tomorrow. We need to complete these change requests as soon as possible. We are already running behind schedule.”

Yeah! What nonsense!? The requirements team screws up and it is we who have to slog it out. My average this quarter will definitely be more than eleven hours. So much for the work-life balance crap. And yes, this is what happens when you send idiots onsite. He carried the bucket for the PM and got what he wanted. Sheez! How do people engage in such behaviour? I would rather kill myself.

“Alright, I am done with the mail. I have sent you a copy. I am off.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

So, is this how life is supposed to be? Wake up early. Travel for about an hour. Check mail. Call onsite and fight. Slog. Slog. Eat. Slog. Slog. Fight again, this time with the PM. Slog. Slog. I just want to get out of this shit. What should I do? I know for sure that I want to do a masters. Should it be an MBA or an MTech? Everybody says that I should go for an MBA. Anyway, I can decide later. There is no way folks at home are going to let me do a masters now. I could move to a different company though.

“Sir. Please show your bus pass.”

“Argh…”

I have not learnt anything new in the last two years. This is my biggest problem. How the hell can I? I work for about ten to eleven hours daily. I also spend close to two hours in commute. I am simply unable to read in the bus. All that I am able to do is listen to some music. After I go home, all there is time for is to watch a movie or some sitcoms, eat supper and chat for a while with friends.

In the morning, she smiles and then I smile. In the evening, I smile and then she smiles. Will I ever find her name? My “bus stop crush”!

“Ayya.”

I have no change. I will give him something tomorrow. Poor man. Hey, I have to get detergent. Sheez! I have to walk back all the way to main road now.

I am unable to find any time during the weekends too. I get up late on both days. On Saturday, it’s usually pub hopping with Charlie and Siddique. On Sundays, we go for a film with the chicks and then roam around the city. To be fair, this is the only relaxation I get. If it not for the weekends, I will surely go mad. What’s the use of weekends if not for freaking out!?

“Cash or Card?”

“Cash.”

I think it is time for serious change. No more booze party every weekend. I will skip one week every month and then slowly make it two for some months. I have to convince the boys about this too. I am going to sit at home on at least one day of the week and read something. Boring but let me try. I am also going to spend at least an hour every day in reading. Either the TV goes or the chatting goes. I think it is better the TV goes. After all, the same movies are being screened over and over again.

Hey, Ram’s home already. How is he back so soon today? Ah, his mother was supposed to undergo her evaluation today.

“Hi boss.”

“Hi”

“What did the doctor say?”

“They found that she was not responding to chemo. They are most likely to start radiation.”

“OK”

Sigh. I hope she gets better soon.

What’s on TV?

Part I in the series A Culture of Mediocrity.

Someone with whom I could program. You know, two people coding in perfect harmony just like a couple figure-skating on ice. Both know what is to be done and take up parts of that task without even uttering a word to each other. Even without talking, the design of the program lays out in our heads in the exact same way and we go about in perfect symphony. I write the class stubs, she writes the interfaces. I write the methods while she writes the handlers. And during the moments that we do talk, it turns out that we both were thinking that the same classes should be refactored.

And when it comes to research, though we may be working in two different fields, perhaps I in AI and she in Economics, we both compete with each other for results, trash each other’s approaches and theories and yet cook supper right after the argument as though nothing happened. Of course, I will be doing the dishes and cutting the vegetables while she does the actual cooking. Synchronized, just like the programming.

On days when we both labour away into the night, I turn to her at 2 in the morning and say, “I think we should take a break. How about a walk on Mysore road?” She says “Yes” and we talk the most romantic walk ever, with our minds at peace, relishing the silence of each other’s company. Yes, we will not be holding hands. On days when one of us is working late, the other sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, prepares soup and then convinces the other to take a break and eat it.

And when one of us wins some honour, the other is a bit jealous but mostly exhilarated which of course will never be expressed in words or even body language. The eyes may betray a dutiful silence, if only to whisper, “Sic transit gloria mundi”.

A person who would say, “Potato, only if you have anything new” rather than “Potato, what the hell are you talking about?” when I say, “I think we should talk about time loops.” A soulmate who understands natural selection, chaos theory and probability, a deep understanding, an intuitive understanding. A soulmate who is painfully aware of the many paradoxes of life but is never unsettled by them. A soulmate who has no hope but is hopeful at the same time.

A soulmate who would surprise me, “I have written the Python wrappers for Festival. Now could you please write the Rythmbox plugin that you always wanted to.” And then I give her a peck and say, “Thanks tomato. That is much appreciated. I will get to the task right away.” Someone who could accompany me on the violin while I play the piano. Someone with whom I can read plays aloud.

A soulmate who thinks I am crazy but not crazy enough. Perfectly reconciled with our imperfections, we go through life with “peace that passeth all understanding”.

Soulmate, where are you?

Note: This is purely a work of fiction, an attempt at a “refined” stream of consciousness narrative.

There were not many people in the train. Most of the passengers were those who were heading home to the suburbs after getting down at Central. Some were students heading to their coaching classes and there were a few workers too. And at this hour, there were no beggars, peddlers, artisans or acrobats. Since, I was getting down at the next stop, I leaned against the steel partition at a safe distance from the door. A very young boy, probably about five years old stood opposite to me with another boy who looked like his elder brother. The older one looked about twelve or thirteen. Another man stood at the door.

As the train began to move, the young boy reached for the steel bar at the door. His elder brother pulled him back immediately. The man who had half his body outside the train, took a step back inside, turned around and told the boy, “You can stand near the door when you grow up.” The idiocy almost swept me off my feet as the train picked up speed with a shudder. It amuses me on how stupid people can be. 

What is with foot board travel in trains and buses? In spite of the horrendous deaths that happen almost every month, people still continue to stand near the door or hang on to it. Most of the time, this happens even when there is enough space for everybody inside the bogie. The government does try its best – stickers plastered around the doors warning about the dangers, the occasional fines and there also media campaigns. But somehow, people just don’t get it!

A year back, a classmate had lost his life. He was hanging on to the steel bar near the door and made a slight move to make himself more comfortable. He lost his grip, fell down and hit his head on a traction pillar. There was not a single drop of blood on the scene. He died from a massive head trauma and internal bleeding. I couldn’t bring myself to grieve at his funeral. “What a complete idiot!?” was all I could think of. His loss changed nothing. My classmates were back to footboard travel within a few weeks.

The train slowed down as the walls of MIT came into view. I turned to the young lad and said, “Even when you grow up, don’t stand near the door.” The brother and the man turned to look at me. “Unless you want to die soon” The train came to a complete stop as I finished my sentence. I stepped out and walked away without catching a glimpse of the look on their faces. The one on the man’s must have been interesting.

The eastern exit of the overhead pedestrian walkway ended in a dirty alleyway adjoining the station. Cows rummaged through the vegetable waste lying around while littering the street with fresh gobar. Except for a lamp at the far end of alleyway, there wasn’t much light too. On the other hand, the main road at the northern end of the platform was well lit and tolerably clean. I simply had to walk along the track for a few yards and then cross three tracks to be on that road.

A horn sounded in the distance as I walked to the end of the platform. Pandian Express was on its way. I paused at the first track and turned to my left. There was no train approaching as far as I could see. I turned to my right. Pandian was approaching fast on the second track. In the three seconds that I took to cross the first track, my brain processed a series of questions: Should I wait for the train to pass?  Should I save the fifteen seconds it takes to pass? Would I be able to cross in time? 

The answers to all three questions were wrong.

At about ten in the night everyday, the power went off for about five minutes. Far from city and vehicle lights, the sky suddenly lit up with billions of stars. During the long weekends when my friends and neighbours were away, I would gaze upon the skies in solitude and absolute silence. For those three hundred seconds, you forget everything.

You forgot CA. You forgot CN.
You forgot education. You forgot jobs.
You forgot achievement. You forgot disappointment.
You forgot dreams. You forgot ambition.

You forgot family. You forgot sibling.
You forgot enemy. You forgot friend.
You forgot laughter. You forgot weeping.
You forgot language. You forgot music.

You forgot history. You forgot philosophy.
You forgot learning. You forgot teaching.
You forgot birth. You forgot death.
You forgot the known. You forgot the unknown.

You forgot yourself.

Then the tube lights flickered and the ceiling fans whirred and you had a life to live.

* CA and CN stand for Computer Architecture and Computer Networks, two of the many subjects that I used to be engaged in when the power went off.

Dear Budding Writer,

I must confess that I am not a writer. Neither am I, a scholar of literature. I also feel that it is absolutely imperative that you are aware of the fact that I haven’t read any of the usual Page 3 diet of fiction and non-fiction, none of the Booker prize winning books and “Five Point Someone”. I must also confess that my reading of non Page 3 literature is also highly restricted. All these facts would make me grossly unqualified to offer any sort of advice.

Yet, I write this letter for two reasons. Firstly, I feel that the rules of excellence are the same, no matter the field. And for this matter, this could be a letter to a budding whatever. Secondly, I chose to write to you, the budding writer, because I see many of your kind in this forum. While people read your work, offer their comments, no one has taken it upon themselves to address issues that every writer faces. I feel that these issues are important and those who did address these issues before, have left this organisation and those who can now, don’t want to. And therefore, I take it upon myself to address them.

Before anything, intentions are very important. I believe nobody here, in this forum, is writing to put food on the table. And so, nobody is under the pressure to pander to a paying audience to sustain existence. In a way, this provides a lot of freedom. The boundaries of your imagination and thoughts are limited only by the frontiers of your own mind and not by the frontiers of your paying audience. You are free to push these frontiers how much ever you want and not be bridled by the unwillingness of your audience to push their own boundaries. So sit down and ask yourself the question: “Why do I write?” Do you write to express your thoughts, ideas and imaginings through the medium of the written word? Would you continue to write even if no one were to read your work? Or, is your writing simply pandering to an audience for some ego maintenance?

Technology has allowed mediocrity to be showcased and worse, appreciated and hailed in unprecedented ways, much more than it has helped in unearthing hidden talent. The natural human yearning for recognition coupled with the ease of technology has ensured that this vicious epidemic grows exponentially, proportional to availability and access. Familiar scenes of two-year olds being hailed as the next Picasso for a few random lines and circles with their first set of crayons or four-year olds being hailed as the next Mozart after they manage to press consecutive keys in an octave are now being played over and over again on cyberspace. Only now, we have twenty year olds and forty year olds and seventy year olds vying for page views, digg hits, comments and being hailed as “the next big thing”. It is a delicate structure of ego maintenance for everyone in the game.

It is easy to get lost in phony praise and unsubstantiated criticism. But there is also the grave danger of ignoring genuine comments. How does one make the fine distinction? I would suggest that one should look for the maturity, in one’s critics, to understand at the meta-level. It is at this level that one agrues not on the merits of the outcomes but on the merits of the procedure or process that produced the outcome. This is the level where one is willing to be unshackled, even if it were only for the purpose of criticism, of identities that we possess – inherited, thrust upon or assumed. These are the people who will tell you not just their beliefs but why they believe. And it is these people who will tell you not only what they liked or disliked in your writing, but why they think so. Find fault,if any, in how they tied their whats to their whys but be gentle to their whys and whats.

Of course, not all are capable of providing such criticism. Keep a look out for the ratio. If the ratio is too large for comfort, it is time to move on. Move to another forum. The signs are tell-tale. Work which you think is mediocre get fabulous praise. Recently, I had a nice laugh with a friend who posted something on his blog, something that he thought was mediocre, and got great comments. He was later subject to a sound thrashing from his wife for the quality of his work. Is the number of readers who fail to grasp the central theme of your work or the complexity of ideas, growing each time you post something? Are you consciously exercising a constraint on your vocabulary? A friend of mine shared a quote that is often attributed to Einstein: “You can make things simple but not simpler.” Not often used in the context of literature, I feel it is appropriate for writing as well.

It all comes down to priorities. If you think that writing is important to you and that you need to continually improve, be ready to move and move when the time comes. You are bound to feel a tinge of guilt and question yourself of elitism. No. There is no issue of superiority complex here. And, hell no! By moving on, you are not classifying people as lower mortals. We all have our places in the grand scheme of things and it just happens that you are in the wrong place. For your own good (and probably for everybody else’s sake as well), find the right one. The human race could do better “if the square pegs found their square holes and the round pegs found their round holes”!

Last week, I had to review some code. I was shocked to find that the programmer had stuffed the entire application into three classes in the default package. My first thought was to locate a link on the internet about code maintenance and share it with him. But, I had never read anything about code maintenance! It was almost natural. Thinking back, I figured that I was exposed to a fair amount of good code (unlike the programmer who was new to the art) that it became second nature. I learnt a lesson that day: You can’t write good code if you haven’t seen good code. This hold for almost anything that one does. You can’t excel in anything if you aren’t aware of excellence.

Applying this lesson to writing, one must read much more than one writes. Read post-modern. Read the classics. Read Shakespeare. Even read the King James. Trace the history of the written word. Love the language in which you write and learn its history and evolution. Read and learn. Read and learn. Yes, be careful to not let the study influence you to an extent that you become a scholar of literature instead of being a writer. Remember, the problem is not that you started with “Five Point Someone” but that you stopped with “Five Point Someone”.

My last note is about something that is anathema to the SMS generation: spelling, grammar and punctuation. These attributes of writing and language are now detested by a generation suffering from attention deficiency disorders. These three constitute the aesthetics of writing. They complete the art, just like a final polish, a final coat or the final crescendo. If your writing is to be read by anyone other than you, due respect is to be given to spelling, grammar and punctuation. They enable the reader to concentrate on comprehension rather than reading. More importantly, they avoid ambiguity and allow clear transfer of ideas. If your thoughts gallop while your writing tries hard to keep pace with it, try free writing. Roughly scribble down your ideas first. Pay no attention to sentence construction, grammar, punctuation or spelling. Once the ideas have been jotted down, expand them. Make sure that you check and recheck. Get your work reviewed. This would be the least that is expected of any writer. While comparing oranges to apples might be inappropriate, we all expect something common from our oranges and apples – to be fresh and clean.

Have fun writing.

W.

“I don’t want to live.”
“Loser!”
And so, I lived.

“I don’t want to do primary.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did primary school.

“I don’t want to do middle.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did middle school.

“I don’t want to do high.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did high school.

“I don’t want to do college.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did college.

“I don’t want to work.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did work.

“I don’t wan’t to do university.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did university.

“I don’t want to do a Ph.D.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did Ph.D.

“I don’t want to do my Post Doc”
“Loser!”
And so, I did Post Doc.

“I don’t want to do research”
“Loser!”
And so, I did research.

“I don’t want to be famous.”
“Loser!”
And so, I did fame.

“I don’t want to live.”
“Loser! You have already done it.”

What did I gain from proving them wrong?

10:00 AM

“Hey, I want you to make lemonade for our customer.”

“OK. Send the requirements across.”

12:00 PM

“How is it coming?”

“I have done a study of lemonades. Called up my grandmother for a few as well. I am now looking into which would suit our customer best.”

02:00 PM

“Well?”

“I have narrowed down to four flavours now. I am doing a taste test now with people in the wing. Did you take part? By the way, did you know Monsanto is trying to create a GM variety of lemon. I wonder what they are trying to do. Poke a hole, squeeze and drink straight from the fruit?”

/* laughter */

04:00 PM

“I have finally selected one. Take a shot.”

/* tastes */ “This tastes great. Good job. We will serve this to the customer. I will prepare the process documents right away.”

04:30 PM

“I am done with the documents. Take a look.”

/* reads through the document */ “Looks fine.”

/* clicks send */ “Done. Good job. See you tomorrow.”

“OK. I will spend some time at the library and some TT before leaving for the day.”

Big Brand MNC Software Services Company 2008

10:00 AM

“Hey, I want you to make lemonade.”

“OK”

“I will send the requirements across. Take a look at it and get back to me.”

10:30 AM

“What’s up?”

“I am sorry. I am not sure what ‘lemonade’ is.”

/*thud*/ “Did you check the dictionary?”

/* Silly smile */

“Lemonade is what we call ‘lime juice’.” /* smiling sarcastically */ “I hope you know what that is.”

“Yes. Yes.”

12:00 PM

“How is it coming?”

/* sheepish smile again */ “It is coming fine.” /* Seeing that the manager can see through the lie */ “I had to go out for some time. We are starting Nose pickers Anonymous on campus and I am part of the organizing committee. I had to go for that. I will sit through lunch.”

“There is no need to skip lunch.”

“No. I insist. I am not hungry as I had something at the meet.”

1:00 PM

/* Manager walks by */

“I just got back. I couldn’t bear the hunger.”

1:15 PM

“Could you give me some initial pointers?”

“For making lemonade?”

“You see, I have never made lemonade in my life. So, I am not really sure on how it is done.”

/* sigh */ “Try searching on the internet.”

“What keywords should I use?”

“‘Lemonade’ would be just fine. ‘Lemonade Recipes’ would probably give you more results. It will be great if we could have three or four flavours and then narrow down on the most appropriate for our customer.”

“OK. I will get back.”

1:45 PM

“Firefox keeps crashing.”

“Did you try disabling the extensions?”

“No. How do you do that?”

/* knows how to do it but not in a mood to answer */ “Is Firefox the only browser on your computer? What did you do to Internet Explorer?”

“Ah! I forgot about that. I have been using Firefox for a long time now.”

3:00 PM

“What’s up?”

“I have found one recipe.”

/* takes a glance at his system clock */ “OK. Start using that.”

“Recipe says that I need a squeezer.”

“I think you should raise a request for that.” /* thinks about the “good old days” */

“OK.”

3:30 PM

“I need approval for the squeezer from you and also the Tools Group.”

“OK”

3:45 PM

“Tools Group wants a form to be filled. I am not sure what goes into it.”

“Send it across. I will fill it up.”

“OK.”

5:00 PM

/* squeezer is delivered to the desk */

“What are you doing?”

“I am searching on the internet for instructions on how to use the squeezer.”

/* thuds again */ “Let me show you. Get me that squeezer.” /* thinks to himself “Why didn’t I even assign this? I could have done it myself. But if I do that, he might never learn.” */ /* quietly demonstrates the use of the squeezer */ “Got it?”

“Yes.”

6:00 PM

“I have made the lemonade. Can I leave for the day?”

“Let me taste it. Get me a bit.” /* is handed a small bit */ “I think there is too much sugar in this. Don’t you think so?”

“I am not sure. I thought it was all right”

“Did you get others to taste it?”

“No.”

“Hmm… There is too much sugar in it. We need to fix it. Dilute it.”

/* adds water */

“That would be enough. Let me taste it. Taste fine. Hey, can you taste this for me?” /* hands a bit to others in the cube */ “Taste fine right? OK. We will send this across to the customer.”

“OK.”

/* His eye catches the water bottle */ “Is that the water that we used for this?”

“Yes.”

“Oh No! The requirements specially called for Sierra Springs! Did you not read the requirements document?” /* starts cursing himself */

“Oh! Did it?”

“We will have to start again now.” /* the cursing becomes stronger */

9:00 PM

“How is it coming?”

“I think it is done. Can you do one final taste check?”

/* tastes */ “This tastes fine. Too bad that there isn’t anyone here to concur. Anyway, it is getting late. Let us dispatch it. I will prepare the process documents.”

10:00 PM

“Is the dispatch done?”

“Yes.”

“Should I check it?”

“If you would like too…”

“OK. I have sent the process documents. I hope I don’t miss the cab. See ya then.”

“I will leave after some TT for the day.”

Author’s Note: This was inspired by a conversation that he had with a senior project manager yesterday.

The finiteness of time available to every human hinders him or her from treading the entire matrix of existence to arrive at a sound decision. In such cases, I think it would be better to toss a coin.

Of course, I would be working on the assumption that the coins in my right pant pocket are unbiased. I could test the coins for bias but then I would have to toss each of them infinite times. Let me explain: If I toss a coin six times and I get four heads and two tails, the probability of getting head is two-thirds and the probability of getting tails is one-third. If I tossed it two more times and got tails, the coin would be seem unbiased. But then, what happens if I toss it again? So, we have no choice but to toss the coin an infinite times to check for bias, where we would need exactly half an infinity heads and half an infinity tails.

There is also the assumption that the environment in which the toss is done is unbiased. The assumption simply discounts the possibility that a gravitational wave originating from the massive explosion of a star three thousand light years away might disrupt the space time continuum around the coin, thereby biasing the environment. Here again, I would working on the assumption that gravitational waves do exist though there is a high probability that they do.

There is always the possibility that there is hole in my right pant pocket and I lose all my “unbiased” coins. No problem! Most programming languages support methods for generating random numbers. I would be working on the assumption that the program language that I choose, has a random number generator which is random enough. But how can a non abstract machine generate something abstract like a random number? Well, I could always program it to generate a random number using a function based on user seed.

Using user seed would work on the assumption that humans are abstract entities, who are capable of generating perfectly random numbers. This would be in conflict with determinism, a school of thought which believes that everything, including human thoughts are determined. And by calculating the vectors of the Big Bang, we can determine every action or thought, past, present or future.

Now, that brings us to our final question: Would it possible to analyse a system being within the system?

To be continued…

PS: Thanks to KayB for asking me, “Why were you late for the Bloggers Meet?”.

And are you not,” said Fook leaning anxiously forward, “a greater analyst than the Googleplex Star Thinker in the Seventh Galaxy of Light and Ingenuity which can calculate the trajectory of every single dust particle throughout a five-week Dangrabad Beta sand blizzard?”

“A five-week sand blizzard?” said Deep Thought haughtily. “You ask this of me who have contemplated the very vectors of the atoms in the Big Bang itself? Molest me not with this pocket calculator stuff. – H2G2 (link)

How did you get here? I mean, how did you get to this post of mine? I did not tweet about this post. Neither did I post a link on my blog at my workplace. Was it the feed? Ah! I knew it! So, you are one of those! So, the not so significant question to be answered today is whether I am being histrionic by putting down my thoughts on this public blog. While one corner of mind says that I shouldn’t even give a thought to the accusations of attention seeking behaviour, another corner pleads a look into the subject. The problem is with the line. Would the very act of creating a public blog constitute histrionic behaviour? Would it be spending hours on search engine optimization? Or would it be commenting on other blog so as to direct some traffic to your own? Is using Twitter histrionic behaviour? Is it just a wonderful tool to instantly record your thoughts and possibly even have a conversation. Or is it simply another medium to command one’s thirty seconds of fame? How is possible to differentiate a genuine concern of attention seeking behaviour from one that is driven by jealousy?

Well, all I can say is that you have been warned. And the bottom line is that I am not asking you to read this. Maybe, you should. Maybe, you shouldn’t. Who knows!? Toss a coin.

On the 4th of this month, I was waiting at Shivaji Nagar Bus Terminus to catch a bus to Electronics City. After a long time, a bus to Begur arrived. Even though there was place for everyone to be seated comfortably, the crowd jostled and hustled in a mad rush to get into the bus. The folks already in the bus were also trying to push their way out at the same time. One man, trying to get down said in desperation, “Why are you doing this?”. At that instant, possibly triggered by the expression of disgust and contempt on his face, I was struck by the thought: “Would this very man who asked the question do what he asked of others if he was one of them? Would he not jostle to get into the bus? Would he wait for the passengers to offload first before boarding the bus?”

The human species as I know is a whole bunch of hypocrites. We, which also includes me (This is for the nincompoops who think that I somehow transcend this pathetic existence just by describing it or  are unfamiliar with the semantics of the word “we”.), claim to believe in principles which we profess to live by, but wouldn’t think twice to break them if it works to our own advantage. This behaviour does not arise from a philosophical understanding of the pitfalls of demanding outright moral clarity but is internalized behaviour which most people don’t seem to notice. And the ones who do, lead miserable lives.

For one, passion is a major driver of this hypocrisy. The need to be loved and to love induces highly hypocritical behaviour. And for those we love, we need to interact with other members of the species. And greater the number of interactions, greater is the hypocrisy. The best way to escape, if you want to escape, would be to live all alone. Away from the hassles of “civilization”, on your own with nothing but your very own existence and the only existence to define your principles of living. But we have grown so much depending on other members of the species of survival that such a thought of living alone would nothing but death. And that brings us to our next best escape: Death!

The only true reprieve is in Death. Death frees us all.

The Slave. The Master.
The Rulers. The Ruled.
The Persecuted. The Prosecutors.
The Exploiters. The Exploited.
The Rich. The Poor.
The Intelligent. The Unintelligent.
The Unloved. The Loved.
The Hero. The Villain.
The Famous. The Infamous. The Unknowns.
The Failure. The Successful.
The Clear Headed. The Confused.
The Healthy. The Sick.

Death is the only thing that you wouldn’t regret.
The only true reprieve is in Death. Death frees us all.

A friend’s status message recently read  “Who will cry if I die?” I ask, Does it really matter? If you are dead, you are not going to know anyway. And now, I go to sleep. Need to get back to the business of living, or to put it in a better way, of being a hypocrite.

Chuck Noland was an idiot.

PS: Twitter is really a great tool.