Are you on good terms with the Gods?

The Sri Venkateshwara Temple at Pittsburgh... the only temple within driving distance of me in this nook of the US. I visited it twice in the last two weeks, and like old times, I found myself alone and unhurried.

I'm essentially an agnost, yet I love the serene atmosphere of temples. I find it soothing and cleansing, sitting amidst the smell of thirtham, incense, vibhoodhi, and kumkum... and the sounds of chanting. People say agnosts are just ignorant or cowardly atheists, but nothing can be farther from the truth. My beliefs are too complex to fit within the categories of atheist and theist. The closest word that fits is agnostic.

In spite of not being a believer, it has always seemed to me that somebody up there has been watching over me, protecting me from the impact of my numerous follies. To that my Mom would say God does not care if you believe in him or not, as long as you are good. I would say (in a half-hearted parry), maybe it's just luck. To that, fellow blogger Kirthi would say that inherent abilities like systematicity help in getting favourable results in life, and since the innumerable little factors are not tangible, they get ascribed to luck. And that's even harder for me to believe. Easier to think that I'm on good terms with the Gods, if there are any; and if not, well, then it's luck!

So I pondered, thinking about my fortunes in the last few years. And came to the conclusion that I fully deserved my rewards and my punishments. Life does have a sense of justice... well, mine does, at least!

I told the priest my Gothram and Nakshathram, with a little hesitation because it's been so long since I enunciated those words myself. I took comfort in the rituals and prayer, as they are meant to; yet I do not share my Mom's fatalism. Prayer eases the mind, but it cannot get things done for you, even there is a God. Theists say it can guide, even if it cannot do. But even for that to happen, we come back to the question...

Are you on good terms with the Gods?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Bridge Mania hits Chicago

The 2006 Summer North American Bridge Championships are going on here at Chicago... I flew all the way to play for a few days. All right, I'm a bridge chump, not a champ, but I really wanted to play, so I did. And what a week it's been! For the past six days, I've been sleeping 6-7 hours per night and playing bridge 11-12 hours per day. I'm currently in that sweet state of satisfied intellectual exhaustion that comes with over-exerting one's brain cells. In other words, I'm ready to drop to the ground and ask someone to wake me up when September ends.

The American Contract Bridge League reports that about 6000 people are playing this time. So, at particular times of the day between bridge sessions, the cafeterias in the Chicago Downtown area get overrun by bridge buffs arguing and discussing the hands. Any random spot we chose for getting something to eat or drink, we would see people with bidding convention cards in their pockets, game records in their hands and the occasional pencil tucked behind a ear. I must have worn a manic grin on my face whenever someone said something loud enough for me to pick up, for I've been out of place for long as one of the few bridge enthusiasts around no matter where I go. That's the nice thing about our world, isn't it? Somehow, somewhere you're bound to find like-minded people.

The thing I liked best about the week was the fact that we got our asses kicked whenever we ventured to play in the more serious events. I never forget a strategy, especially when I'm at the receiving end, so that's a lot of arsenal for *my* future perusal. Of course, it gets depressing after a while, so we played in some of the easier fields in between to rack up some points and more importantly, some self-esteem :)

I also managed to do a bit of sightseeing, thanks to our good friend Intern who was nice enough to show me around for a day. Chicago is a really nice city, especially the area where I was staying - near Grant Park, adjoining Lake Michigan. Our other good friend Ramani put up with me .. er... put me up for the week. Cool breeze, fresh air, greenery, good music almost every evening with free concerts at Millenium Park a short walk away. I should also mention, accessibility to all the "happening" joints in downtown chicago, shopping, restaurants, as well as transportation - for the record. For me, that was all just icing on the bridge cake. I'll put up some pictures after I get home and process them.

Incidentally, I turn 23 this week. Birthdays are so depressing. Either you realize how young you are as opposed to how old you feel, or you realize how old you are and wish for the the good ol' days. Equally depressing is the realization that I have a lot of work to do to make up for taking off for so long. Or maybe all the depression is just because of the realization that my fantastic week has come to an end.

Cheers,

Prashanth.

"Selective" Concentration

The part I hate about traveling is the packing and unpacking. Especially packing, since I almost always forget something. Never the essentials: I always remember to take some reading material with me, generally in the form of fantasy novels. But non-essential paraphernalia are a different matter altogether. Like bus/train/flight tickets. Or my toothbrush.

I'm not exactly an unsystematic and unfocussed individual for such things to happen. Quite the opposite, in fact. I can study quite well, even with the TV showing a cricket match and the music system playing rock music in the background at the same time. I can sleep with the light on. If I set my mind on something, I do it correctly, methodically and without distraction.

Perhaps a little too well for my own good. I vividly recall an incident when I was in fifth grade (or thereabouts), when my Mom had to treat a lump on my head and she asked me how I injured myself. I told her earnestly and truthfully that I'd been solving a math problem in my head and walked into a wall. She and my brother laughed for days at my expense. Grrrr.

There was one time when I was with some friends and teachers from school, doing some sightseeing in Singapore while we could take time off from the contest we'd gone there for. I was pondering some obscure piece of philosophy and stopped to tie my shoelaces. When I stood up, the rest of the group were nowhere to be seen! We re-united after the lights came back on (we had gone to watch the musical fountain), but people kept shaking their heads at me. Yet another time, in Disneyland with my family, I forgot where we were supposed to meet and started wandering aimlessly. I finally found them after twenty minutes, sitting quietly at the point from where I'd started my wandering. Harumph.

It hasn't gotten any better over the years. Just last week I went to watch the new Superman movie with my t-shirt on frontside-back. I realized it only on the way back. Out of politeness or amusement (I suspect the latter), nobody had pointed it out to me.

No wonder then, my cousins have always regarded me as the absent-minded professor of the family. I take umbrage at being called absent-minded, for what my indignation is worth. I prefer the more politically correct term of Selective Concentration. I manage just fine with things I consider important at any given moment of time, and choose to concentrate upon!

Why this post now? I've been traveling, and am at Pittsburgh at the moment.... and I didn't forget to pack a single item. I'm rather proud of myself :)

Or at least, I like to think so until I finish unpacking....

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Of Work, Life and Opportunities

When I was nineteen, I did an internship at a car factory on the outskirts of Madras. It took two hours just to go there, and even longer to come back because of traffic in the evenings. This compounded the already incredible working hours, for the day started at 6:45 am and ended at 5:30 pm, even longer sometimes depending upon work. In other words, I had to wake up at 4:00 am, catch the bus at 4:45 am and I'd be back at around 7:45 pm. That left just enough time to have supper, rest awhile and crash into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

That was when I started having things with caffeine in them, after an embarrassing incident of me dozing off in a little conference room while waiting for my boss. Before that, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had tea or coffee. But I digress. The situation of the regular employees was worse than me, for they generally had to stay longer, and work six to six and a half days per week. In a factory that runs almost 24 x 7 to meet worldwide demand, there is no rest for anyone. There was one curious incident when I saw one employee being met by two women at the bus stop for five minutes worth of conversation - at 4:45 am! When I enquired, discreetly and indirectly, what was going on, I was informed that those were his sister and fiance, and that his fiance had wanted to see him on a weekday, for they only got to meet on sundays usually!

Now, my work rarely required me to step outside the air-conditioned office. Even the daily walk to the cafeteria for lunch made me wince, for the blazing summer sun can suck the moisture out of you very soon. But now and then, it was necessary to go outside. Like the time when PDI (Pre-Delivery Inspection) reported a couple of recurring faults and it was the job of QC (Quality Control), where I was placed, to fix it before the cars went that far. This meant that a bunch of people in the department, me included, had to rush to the yard, inspect and mark the hundreds of cars that were parked and ready to be sent to PDI. It was hot, dusty work, and my upbringing has been such that I'm unused to physical labour of any sort. One of my hostel pals, a perpetually enthusiastic Oriya who was also doing the internship, jibed about it good-naturedly when he saw fatigue writ large on my face. When we returned to the office, I got into a conversation with one of the junior employees who I'd gotten to know a bit, and who'd been out there with us in the yard that day. I asked him how he coped with the long hours and the hard work. I'll never forget the expression on his face as he answered me.

If you know how to look, you can see the signs of past trials on a man's face. The eyes, in particular, are a give-away. I was young then, and I did not know how to look. But at that moment of vulnerability, even I could see it. The soft answer was, "It's honest work, and we need the money. Before this job, I had nothing. Now I have a chance."

All of a sudden, it was as though the proverbial Doors of Perception had been opened. In spite of my sheltered upbringing, I understood then how it felt to start with nothing and work and struggle your way up to a decent standard of living. I could taste the man's sorrow, dejection, frustration, hope, determination and salvation. I knew the meaning of hard work, its necessity and its power.

I didn't have to ask anything more about his past, or his hopes for his future. I didn't have to check if there were others in the same room with similar pasts and hopes. It didn't matter. I knew.

That was how I realized that simply by virtue of where I was born, life has given me chances and opportunities that many people would kill for. If someone didn't clear that tough examination, it need not be because he's not smart enough. If someone didn't climb that corporate ladder, it need not be because he's not hard working enough.

I am glad that I have seized most of the chances that have come my way, and made good of most of the opportunities. To not do so would be an insult to those who did not have those chances, as much as it would be an insult to my parents who gave given me those chances.

Work hard, and seize the opportunities life presents. You're lucky, you just may not know it yet.

Cheers,
Prashanth.