Tag: life

Live, Learn, Pass It On

I’ve always loved to talk about formal education. Or the futility of it, rather. And I enjoy people who talk about it too. But Sir Ken Robinson isn’t just another person talking about how education ruins our lives.

He’s British. That matters, but only because the accent mesmerises me. There’s more to this TED talk than a flawless speaking style.

John Lennon said, “Learn to smile as you kill.” Perhaps, Sir Ken Robinson took this to heart. Because throughout the video, he never once stops smiling. He’s not angry; he’s not biting his tongue to keep himself from swearing — though I would’ve enjoyed it — at schools that forbids children to dance without thinking, making them memorise theorems instead.

His words are brilliant.

“The education system has mined our minds in the way we strip mined the earth.”

Defining the body: “It’s a way of getting their heads to meetings.”

Here’s a small request: Please spare 20 minutes of your day for this talk. It’s so good, you’d never regret it. And maybe some time, even we could influence a child to draw out of the dotted lines.

Homesick

I’ve heard people talking about being homesick for someplace you’ve never been to. And now I feel it.

After spending as little as five days away from my routine, I now crave more of it. I liked waking up at three am to watch the sunrise through bamboo trees, I enjoyed trekking up a mountain just so we could look down at the plains, I cherish every moment I spend on road shuffling about my seat as we drove through some of the less paved roads.sunriseAnd then I came back. To waking up early so I could get to the bathroom before my roommates woke up, to trudging along the pavement as cars, lorries, and honking autos rushed past me, and made my hair stand up. I came back to my life in the world of air-conditioned offices, where Ralph Lauren, Louis Vuitton, and Ray-Bans were the casual ensemble. I came back to the world I knew I don’t belong.

As I inhaled the carbon dioxide from the hundreds of vehicles that passed me, it took me back to the day I stood in the middle of a tea estate engulfed in the smell of unpicked tea leaves. I remember the fresh water rivers, so clean and so turquoise. I hadn’t seen (or known of) such pure water before. I was so close to the earth, among flowers that bore the morning dew, amidst frozen lakes, and mountains so rough yet so beautiful.

frozen

I long for that.

I’m homesick for that closeness to nature. I crave for the mountain tops, the warm grassy plains, the chilly winter breeze, and the freezing snow peaks. It’s the kind of view a twelve storey corporate building couldn’t offer.

Big Mother

We don’t think or talk it about it everyday. But when someone mentions it, all we can think about is the earth’s greatness.

That’s how I looked at this topic. Anywhere I go, I’d take photos of everything around me. I’m fascinated by the natural resources that are gone to waste in our selfie society.

It’s amazing how the earth manages to bear all of human vanity, yet give away sights only she can. There is something so pristine about fresh water springs, dew drops on flower buds, unshaven mountain cliffs, and the scent of the first raindrop on parched land. If only we stopped our small talk and turned around to see what we’ve been missing all along.

dew drops

Gaping Gap

Flurry skirts swirled

Tropical shirts followed

The Beatles bug surfaced

And flip phones were hip

Jumpsuits and wristbands

Meant fashion, not health

Curly blondes and redheads

Had dinner with Jackson

With a pop tart for dessert

They turned the page over

That turns the world over

Mini’s the new skirt

And tank tops make the day

Beatles are broken records

While phones have an extra i

Jumpsuits mean business

Semi-casual and sensuous

Straight cuts date pixie styles

While Harry Styles hums away

But let’s skip the dessert

Cos’ I’m on a strict diet.

Over the Block

One day, I woke up, got ready for work, walked all the way, and switched on my computer to realise I couldn’t write a word.

the office

And that depressed me more than anything else.

Because I was stuck. It wasn’t a new feeling, of course. But when you’re getting paid to write, you can’t complain of bad days. I couldn’t bear the creeping guilt that gripped my throat forcing me to stare at the page that refused to fill up by itself.

Every new mail was torture. Every new chat message, every request added to the burden. I hated myself for being at work and not working. For not being able to work.

Some people played carrom in a corner. Their “boss” had taken the day off, so they had a field day too. They triggered my already-short temper; they laughed in high spirits while I tapped away on my Mac trying to make something sensible.

Yet some others packed their stuff, calling it a day. They had worked for eight hours straight scrutinising their code, evaluating, and reviewing their program. And here I sat too guilty to even open Buzzfeed.

Then there were the others who always had too much to do than they could ever manage. They had their eyes glued to their screens, shoulders hunched towards the black (square) hole that seems to vacuum them into its depths.

And here I was, wondering if I should add an extra tablespoon of peanut butter in my toast every morning. Even after four cups of coffee, my page was still blank. One of my friends understood. Or at least thought he did.

“Shit happens, dude.” he said, ruffling my hair and winking at me as if that should reassure me. That never reassures me. Not being able to do the only thing (I pride) I can do is not a case of shit happening. It’s more like the case of my entire life becoming a pile of shit.

Still, nothing. I looked through the window. We were high up on the twelfth floor, and the minuscule world below me seemed immaterial. Hundreds of vehicles, carrying thousands of people, trudged their way through jammed streets. Each honking as if the world blow up unless they had their way. But I slumped like a blob of pudding without the inspiration to write even a rhyming couplet.

I turned to the heavens for a hint. For a flash of enlightenment, something to help me unstuck myself, and restart my work. I saw what I see everyday: The sun giving away all her glory to anyone who cared to appreciate. It was cloudy like any other day. Yet the sun shone through all that clouded her vision.

And I wondered: Why couldn’t I write a piece that would shine through the same cloud that protects it?

I wondered. Still, nothing more than this.