Showing posts with label Monday Morning Blues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Monday Morning Blues. Show all posts

Tuesday, 29 September 2015

Of the disappointing Love affair that is Indian webcomics

Bhujwasis (and other junta) still recovering from the bought of loud fervor of Ganesh-utsav will totally relate to this webcomic:

Permalink: crocodileinwatertigeronland.tumblr.com

Can I just say I'm in Love with a capital L. I found this really awesome, super sarcastic and super meta webcomic that updates every Monday (the minuscule regular readership will know how I struggle with Monday mornings). Introducing Crocodile in Water Tiger on Land. I love everything about them including their introduction:

Crocodile in water tiger on land is a non-profit equal opportunity collection of below-the-belt cheap shots in comic form. Look for updates every Monday morning, the best time of the week for insults.
as well as their interview in Helter Skelter (which is where I discovered them)

flyyoufools.com
Not that I've not been in love before. There was Fly You Fools back in the day when Google Reader was a thing. [I have no idea who I have to thank for sharing this one but I definitely know who I have to curse for taking that beautiful community away from me. (Google, you are quite evil).] FYF had awesome pop-arty graphics and the foul-mouthed sarcasm that made it very relatable for me.  But it didn't last; not a peep from them since Feb 2011. 

mantaraycomics.tumblr.com/thesmallpicture
Then I discovered Manta Ray Comics and I used to look forward to their weekly comic, The Small Picture. It had so many things going for it: it had great art (Prabha Mallya, you're awesome!) and it was political and subtly sarcastic. It even had syndication; it used appear in the Live Mint

My favorite was this comic titled Toasted because it referenced Mad Men and when it came out, I was having a Don Draper moment. Needless to say I was floored (I loved the idea of Don Draper having to wrestle with advertising in the smartphone era.). However, all good things come an end and just like that, they went quite. But it was good while it lasted and it wasn't me, it was YOU. 

Any-the-who, one mustn't let past disappointments color one's judgement about future dalliances. Here's looking forward to Monday Mornings. 

Monday, 22 June 2015

Monday Morning #5: Bolt the Door

Its been a crazy Monday Morning and it promises to be a really really long day. What I really wanted to do today morning was sit back and finish A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry. It is such a beautifully tense book. I had originally planned to quote an excerpt from the book for today's post but this quickie about escapism will have to do now. How I long to Bolt the Door on stupid world right now!! 

Image Source: https://www.facebook.com/

Monday, 15 June 2015

Monday Morning #4: An exercise in self-promotion.

I've been on the move for the majority of the past fortnight now. One of the reasons why it has been a roller coaster was mentioned in the last post. And since this is a Monday and we do poetry on Mondays, I'm going to offer up a poem I wrote some years ago.

Bitter brown espresso
Sweetened with the sweet satisfaction
Of a day spent in your company
Nothing significant   

But I kept telling myself:
Don’t you dare take this for granted -
For this too shall pass 

And pass it did
Into dreary days and watery sunshine
The stars in the night sky mocked me
They maybe be far away
But at least I could see them. 

I should’ve taken to the drink
Or work or men
Or smoking something silly
But I wanted to strike a healthy balance. 

“You’re not half a couple,
You’re a complete woman”
I kept repeating to myself
Over and over again like a talisman. 

But there are days when it doesn’t work
On these days I want to burn my ideals
And grovel and beg.

On these days I want to melt out of existence
Rather than stick around and watch
The multitude of infinite twittering birds
Going about their important days
In important ways 

On some mornings I wake up with Hip hop -
Or coitus songs in my head
On these mornings I look at the calendar and figure
I’m probably ovulating.

On these morning I smile and think
Someone will get lucky tonight
And maybe even make me happy for a while 

For a while I’ll forget
For a while I’ll believe
“This aint so bad, I could make this work”
But then again hope is a delusion you want to believe

Just like I want to believe
That I will one day
Tear two sachets of brown sugar
And stir my cup of sweetened brown espresso
Sitting across from you
And take it for granted. 

Image Source: http://www.murraymitchell.com/
I went through a very low phase when I was in Cal because I had just graduated and moved to a city where I barely had any friends and I was also beginning a long distance relationship. Some of that and how I tried to deal with it makes its way into this poem. I guess writing it down was also my way of dealing with it.

I seriously should get back to writing more poetry but I end up writing so much during the course of my work that I feel like the words have been squeezed out of me. But I promise I'll post something new soon.

Monday, 25 May 2015

Monday Morning #3: This is Water

Last Monday I wrote some really bad parody of Robert Frost's Mending Wall to describe my sentiments about an average Monday Morning and followed that up with presenting Neruda's Ode to Wine here. This in turn was inspired by an earlier post about Ogden Nash's poem A Drink with Something in it. This I believed was the seed for an interesting tradition - of reading intoxication inspired poetry as a way of getting over the Monday Blues. But I'm already thinking of breaking from tradition.

Image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/
Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of This is Water. On 21st May 2005 author David Foster Wallace gave the commencement speech to the graduating class at Kenyon College. The speech has since been dubbed the 'This is Water' speech and the entire transcript can be read here or you can listen to it youtube here. My favorite though is this really beautiful video that that takes excerpts from the speech and stitches them together with some really great video and graphics.

He makes the most profound point with this really simple story:

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"

The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance

I'm going to try to not reproduce the entire text of the speech here - just the excerpts, but bear with me as I have my fan-girl moment. I went to a post graduate liberal arts program and it simply turned my world view on its head so I totally resonate with his views on the value and purpose of a liberal arts education.

the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about.

one part of what teaching me how to think is really supposed to mean: To be just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded.

His insight into the human nature and workings of the mind are the reason why he can write such real gripping characters in his books. I love his point about how we experience the world through the lens of the 'self' and to be conscious of it is the first step towards developing empathy.

I tend to be automatically sure of...that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence...It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth... It's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.

it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head...I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience...And I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out.


"Getting hypnotized by the monologue in your head"....scientists write papers in Science (and then retract them) about how we're insensitive to corrective information and keep believing false information, but really it comes down to the hypnotic monologue in our heads.
The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're gonna try to see it. This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship...Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship or some inviolable set of ethical principlesis that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things...then you will never have enough...Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly....Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings.
Guilty as charged for worshiping intellect. And it is true I feel like I know so little - like I'm some sort of backwaters oaf. I guess I have a lot to learn when it comes to being really free of my hang ups.
They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing.
And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving.... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
The so-called real world not only promotes this way of living, it also reinforces it through the construction of a narrative in line with the worship of money, power, sexual allure and self on social media platforms. Life is demystified through a series of status updates and posts.
That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.
The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.
It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:
"This is water."
"This is water."
It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.
I wish you way more than luck.
Amen.

Monday, 18 May 2015

On Another Monday Morning: An Ode to Wine

Rephrasing another poet I'd like to submit:

Something there is that doesn't love at all,
A Monday's clarion call - 
To return to the tread mill
I haven't had my weekend's fill.
Hence I find myself doing everything but 'work'. Today I reread some of my blogs and I found this one I had written a couple of weeks ago on 'Monday Mornings' and before I knew it I was on Poem Hunter reading other poems and it hit me: this is a tradition worth building on. So here it is - in keeping with the last post's intoxicated topic, but far more sensuous - Ode to Wine.


Ode To Wine


Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine,
starry child
of earth,
wine, smooth
as a golden sword,
soft
as lascivious velvet,
wine, spiral-seashelled
and full of wonder,
amorous,
marine;
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
At times
you feed on mortal
memories;
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
transitory tears;
your
glorious
spring dress
is different,
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
Wine
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.

My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.

But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
you are
the community of man,
translucency,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Drink it,
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine. 

Monday, 20 April 2015

On Monday Mornings

When you're not quite ready to hit the treadmill running,
When you'd rather linger in your bed and catch that last snatch of sweet morning sleep,
When you want to day dream,
And window shop across the interwebs - looking for something amusing,
You find just such a thing from the masters:

A Drink With Something In It
There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow Martini;
I wish I had one at present.
There is something about a Martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the vermouth--
I think that perhaps it's the gin.
Image Source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/

I could use a mellow dirty martini or a gin and tonic this morning. Except Frost keeps knocking at the back of my head - what was that line about promises?