Akshi and me - 2

Akshitha is grooming herself to be a well-rounded Papa-centric person. She cries everytime I lift another child. In fact, she has begun to aver to her mother that 'Papa belongs to Baby'.

Little does she realize that this attitude is not helping her grow. Not helping her Papa grow either.

Holy song, wholly performance

Had a practice session last night for the next youth bhajan. If bhajan is seva as well, I doubt if seva was served. At least, I served nothing. If we are dancers, we should dance. Else, let's clap for the glory of the group. They also serve who only stand and wait.

But then, lips that pray are cooler than hands that help.

Saddam Bush, mate!

Have been following the Gulf News chronicle on Iraq-Kuwait, and on some of the reflections of Saddam.

Interestingly, the more I read his viewpoints, the more I began they sounded like George's. So very similar. Indeed, he sounded like Australian cricketers, who would only accept criticism as long as they were praise.

Teach, her, not, train, her

Akshitha has commenced her journey into the world of formal and phony communication in the mother of miscommunication, English.

Her first word was, undoubtedly, the Omkar, the primordial sound of English,- 'No'. And she utters it as easily as she spills juice out of the palm of her hand.

Quite appropriately, the second set of syllables she has picked up is 'Thank you'.

Philosophew

What's the synonym of synonym?

Democratically sustained imperialism

Was reading the other day about how Laloo Prasad Yadav got away with just about everything during his heyday under the Bihar sun.

Looks like the only difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that we elect the former.

The fourth mythical estate

Read an article in the Gulf News the other day about Dubai Police being voted best in the world. Should have been 'Dubai Police voted best in the world by Dubai Police'. Where transparency refers only to office presentations, the sole option for people is to just flip the page.

Let go

Was watching our Youth Coordinator Navneet immerse himself in his kanjeera yesterday. Interesting.

Playing an instrument exceedingly well is like driving a F1 sports car astoundingly well. You have to become one with the car. So also with the instrument. Just like the fingers clasp themselves around the steering wheel to make the driver one contiguous form with the raching machine, so also do the fingers dance over the drumhead, not as another, but as itself, the dancer becoming the dance, and the stage, separated, rather by time, than by space.

Maybe a microcosm of life itself. You might need to be passionate about what you do, to do it exceedingly well. Dance like no one is gasping. Live like it's your life. Be.

Renouncing renunciation

There seems to be so much of over the veneer and under the table jostling to be involved in prime-time seva. Few realize that the greatest beneficiary of any seva activity is the individual himself. As a corollary, the lowest form of seva would be the most beneficial.

Lower the seva, higher the growth, greater the learning.

Sadly, in this age of earning recognition, no one wants to be learning renunciation.

Akshi and me - 1

30th June, 2009

Baby told me today, "Acha, don't kiss me", after I had somthered her for only 10 minutes. Looks likes the future is already in the present. Sigh of the times.

Akshi and me

Watched a movie yesterday (recommended by Praji, as usual) entitled 'Abhiyum Njanum' (Abhi and me). It had a heart-wrenching story with a mind-wrenching message.

This movie is for all those fathers of daugthers who are like me,- a father who will not let his daughter walk, lest she fall, who wont let her swim, lest she gasp, who wont let her breathe, lest she experience life. This movie is for every father who thinks his daughter is an inextricable extension of himself. It drives home (rather sharply) the point that nothing in this world is yours, not even your intellect. Even that is borrowed, along with the body.

Ended up recollecting to my own discomfort, the profound truth (and all profound truths usually bring discomfort) from the Gita, where Krishna says,

"What is yours today, belonged to someone else yesterday, and

will belong to someone else the day after tomorrow.

You are mistakenly enjoying the thought that this is yours.

It is this false happiness that is the cause of your sorrows".

Looks like God is your only possession in this illusion called life. In an unrelated way, becoming a father is easy, being a father is quite the opposite, especially for the weak of parental heart.

Non-sequitur: The movie, although in Tamil, does not play out like a Tamil movie. It feels more like a Malayalam or Bengali movie. No overactors, no Namitha, no nonsense.

i meets I

At the abode, in the presence of the Phenomenon

Crusade against Self-discipline

Interesting. We had a Youth meeting last Friday, where I proposed the idea of a Mentor for the youth,- at the expense of my own reputation as the Youth Convenor.

However, vociferous opposition made me think harder. It is interesting that the cosy comfort of our own continually enforced nescience, makes us defy the warm wisdom of larger experience. And by the time we are old enough to show the humility to regret, our children become old enough to dive into the same delusory quagmire.

Such is the nature of Nature. Few are aware enough to break free from the shackling inertia of ineffectual existence. Even fewer want to do it. Even fewer do it.

Economies of transnational scale

Just to buttress my point, I got this statistic from McKinsey today. 'Of all the world's 100 largest economic entities, 63 are corporations, not countries'. Just serves to sustain my view on Made in China in particular, and corporate objectives in general, steering the course of the future of mankind (and womankind).

Made in the United States of China

I was dusting our show-case today, including the souvenirs we have collected (for others' sake) from the countries we have visited. I happened to flip over a mug that I got from Las Vegas the last time I visited that fatherland of hedonism. Interestingly, even the souvenir was made in, you guessed it, China.

Seemingly, barring the citizens themselves, everything in America is made in China. How does transnational commerce progress from here? Is it possible that China, the world's largest producer of Chinese labour, will find itself in the amusing position of being a monopolistic manufacturer to the world? ... and China becomes the Microsoft of Manufacture.