Phew! Thanks to a string of all-nighters, I've finally gained myself a day's worth of time to relax. Long way to go yet; there's a lot to be done before I stand in front of the Viva panel on the 9th and present 8 months' worth of work in 30 minutes, and pray they at least understand what on earth I am talking about.
A word about the conclave of profs who comprise the Viva panel. They are notorious for being virtually impossible to please. The three possible results of the Viva are:
1) They harrumph and nod and pack me off out of this campus with a decent grade.
2) They prod into all the holes in my thesis, real or imagined, and ask vague questions just to express their displeasure. Then they conclude that I've at least worked reasonably hard and that is enough to earn my degree, though not a good grade.
3) They rag me for the half hour and make me cry and "grant" me an extension.
I'm praying that they choose option one and save us all a lot of trouble.
Anyway, I'm nearly done with my thesis, and the only page in which I say less than I want to say is the Acknowledgements page. So I felt that I should mention here, that I want to thank....
... my project guide, Prof. Ramesh Babu, for being cool about my work the whole year and not exerting any pressure. Having known him for over two years, I call his behaviour uncharacteristic and inexplicable. Perhaps he's going to jump a surprise for me this week and make me get an extension for lack of results or something?
... my guide at General Motors, Sriram Ranganath, for bearing with my lack of systematicity in my work. He's been extremely sweet an I'm wondering why the hell people are not harrassing me for doing a formal verification project without the required background and hence doing a botch job of it all.
... my parents, for understanding that I don't want to come home longer than a few hours per week at a time like this.
... the Nestle stall at Gurunath, for my customary cup of tea at night.
... Ravikanth, for accompanying me whenever I go to get that cup of tea, and for being as late in his work as I am for a change. Nice to finally feel academic comradeship with this branch-topping MIT-going stud!
... Baal, for constantly jeering at my predictions of completing some portion of my work or the other. I think I might have worked harder than I would normally have, just to get the satisfaction of spiting my best friend. Note: I never did manage to finish a single thing at the predicted time.
... the Center for Industrial Consultancy and Sponsored Research, for mandating that I will not be paid a sou beyond the HTRA amount that every graduate Joe in this institute gets automatically (even though mine is a sponsored project). This way, I don't feel guilty for not having earned the money.
... Coldplay, for providing the right kind of music that won't distract you from work and helps you to stay awake.
... Kirthi and Vc, for a stream of semi-nonsensical blogtalk (the nonsensical portion of it being Vc's) that for some weird reason lifted my spirits during this whole ordeal.
... all the people who cared about me enough to wish me good luck for my thesis.
In the last three weeks or so, I've worked and slept and eaten at the vaguest of hours and shot my biological clock to hell. But it's not over yet, and with due apologies to Robert Frost, I thought I'd add this verse:
The night is lit by the moonlight cold,
And the window reveals a sight to behold.
But I have work to do, and deadlines to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Work
I'm nearing the end of my M.Tech, and it looks like I'm actually going to be busy!!! Thesis work and all. So I'm going to be off the blog world for a while. Wish me luck people!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Memories and Dreams
Sometimes, life finds a way of contradicting your firmest beliefs. More often, life has a way of reducing to zilch your strongest resolutions.
I guess I must not be surprised, then, that something as inherently childish as resolving to forget some events of the last couple of years didn't quite work out. I nearly fooled myself into thinking I'd managed to forget things and put them behind me, as even when standing in front of the central object of those events, I managed to keep calm and smiling. And dash it all, I didn't count on the indirect things. One familiar gesture from someone else I know, and it triggers a flood of memories and emotions, setting off a chain reaction of sorts, leaving me numb, gasping for breath, reducing me to tears.
I have a pretty poor memory regarding past events, in general. Whenever I try hard to remember what a person said or did in some particular context, I come up with no more than a vague recollection of sorts. But I guess the subconscious mind knows more than conscious. When I least expect and least want to remember some things, they crop up in my head.
Some of my friends, Prathyusha in particular, have excellent memories. I can imagine her in my situation, only she doesn't need a trigger to remember things, she has every single thing at the top of her head. What a curse it must be, not being to forget, or even push to the back of your mind, the worst events in your life.
At least, the subconscious does have its way of combating memory-triggered depression. I just go to sleep, and let my dreams wash away the harsh realities of life. I never actually remember my dreams; I just remember waking up with a lingering sensation, or emotion, of what I had dreamt about; sometimes, I wake up confused or scared, but most of the time, I wake up with a pleasant feeling... as though my dreams took me to a happy place, clearing my thoughts, refreshing my soul, and wiping the worried furrows off my forehead. I know I don't dream of fantastic or alien things; just a world that is less cruel, less imperfect than the real one.
I think it would be appropriate to sign off with this wonderful bit of prose written by my friend:
Did the night fall or did I shut the harsh world out by closing my eyes? My mind can finally go to places close to my heart; the world has closed in, pushing me into my world of dreams... - Anushya Chandran.
Cheers and wish you sweet dreams,
Prashanth.
I guess I must not be surprised, then, that something as inherently childish as resolving to forget some events of the last couple of years didn't quite work out. I nearly fooled myself into thinking I'd managed to forget things and put them behind me, as even when standing in front of the central object of those events, I managed to keep calm and smiling. And dash it all, I didn't count on the indirect things. One familiar gesture from someone else I know, and it triggers a flood of memories and emotions, setting off a chain reaction of sorts, leaving me numb, gasping for breath, reducing me to tears.
I have a pretty poor memory regarding past events, in general. Whenever I try hard to remember what a person said or did in some particular context, I come up with no more than a vague recollection of sorts. But I guess the subconscious mind knows more than conscious. When I least expect and least want to remember some things, they crop up in my head.
Some of my friends, Prathyusha in particular, have excellent memories. I can imagine her in my situation, only she doesn't need a trigger to remember things, she has every single thing at the top of her head. What a curse it must be, not being to forget, or even push to the back of your mind, the worst events in your life.
At least, the subconscious does have its way of combating memory-triggered depression. I just go to sleep, and let my dreams wash away the harsh realities of life. I never actually remember my dreams; I just remember waking up with a lingering sensation, or emotion, of what I had dreamt about; sometimes, I wake up confused or scared, but most of the time, I wake up with a pleasant feeling... as though my dreams took me to a happy place, clearing my thoughts, refreshing my soul, and wiping the worried furrows off my forehead. I know I don't dream of fantastic or alien things; just a world that is less cruel, less imperfect than the real one.
I think it would be appropriate to sign off with this wonderful bit of prose written by my friend:
Did the night fall or did I shut the harsh world out by closing my eyes? My mind can finally go to places close to my heart; the world has closed in, pushing me into my world of dreams... - Anushya Chandran.
Cheers and wish you sweet dreams,
Prashanth.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Impressions
I've often smiled to myself secretly (half-smile, half-smirk, as some of my friends call it...) when I see someone who prides on himself/herself being an independent person, when I, myself, can see that he/she is still an unwitting slave to the things that the person admires and idolizes.
True, we simply define independence as the ability to not allow oneself to be influenced or confined by what society tells us is the right thing to do. It follows that a person who is independent in thought and action is automatically a kind of iconoclast, but an objective one.
Still, it amuses me to no end that even these people are often predictable, and just happened to be influenced by people or things that are slightly offbeat as far as most people in the world are concerned. All of us are, in some way, slave to the idols and ideals that we grew up believing. Certain things make deep impressions on certain people. To me it often seems that there is really no such thing as free thinking (barring the advancement researchable in Civilization 3).
But even these thoughts couldn't shield from the shock of discovering that the same thing applies to me. Not that I didn't know it already. It's just not the same, knowing something and experiencing something for yourself.
A necessary digression now in order to explain this properly.
I've long held a wish to write a novel - a series of novels actually - in my favourite genre, fantasy fiction for young adults. Some years ago I started writing it. I wrote three chapters and didn't understand why they made for such boring reading. I continued till seven chapters at a later point of time, thinking that the experience can only be instructive. It was, and I realized that I had to apply some of my experience in theater for writing the novel, as my characters lacked depth and individuality. I mean, they were all turning out to sound like me.
Ok, one obvious error in writing style discovered. I started over and wrote upto ten chapters this time. I still didn't like what I was seeing. It struck me that I'd completely neglected to build a picture of the world I was creating. In fantasy, this is even more important because you are talking about something that people are not familiar with. My characters don't live on Earth as we know it. I must pay more attention to describing places, landscapes, people, objects, etc to bring out the feel of the world I am creating. Back to the drawing board.
I started afresh and got till approximately the same stage. And, you guessed it, I was still unhappy with what I was reading. I was not striking a balance between making the book interesting in a continuous, absorbing manner; and building up the story according to the big picture, the overall plot of the tale that I had in mind. Worse, it appeared to be very similar to existing works of fantasy fiction. I know the overall story is quite original, but as I read it, I couldn't help but feel as though I've read all this before.
Nearly two years after I abandoned the project for some kind of a flash of inspiration or enlightenment, I finally understand. I just re-read Magician: Apprentice by Raymond Feist and realized that I've been subconsciously copying his basic characters in that story. That particular book was one of the first books I'd read in the fantasy genre that really made a huge impression on me (I'm leaving Tolkien out of the discussion for now...). And I know now, that I just have to change a couple of basic ideas and I'm all ready to start writing again. And revise it any number of times it takes to get it right. So far I've written about 30,000 words over all these attempts. I have no doubt that I will require at least that much effort again before I can get past those first ten chapters and be satisfied with what I'm writing.
Unfortunately I've already made other plans for my life over the next few years. Perhaps, by the time I'm thirty or forty I'd have written one complete book. For my satisfaction alone. I don't care if it's never published. But I know that I will write. It's as though it's in my blood. As though it's been prophesied.
Impressions.... they creep in, unnoticed, unannounced. They make us what we are, they make us believe what we believe. Perhaps it is only for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
True, we simply define independence as the ability to not allow oneself to be influenced or confined by what society tells us is the right thing to do. It follows that a person who is independent in thought and action is automatically a kind of iconoclast, but an objective one.
Still, it amuses me to no end that even these people are often predictable, and just happened to be influenced by people or things that are slightly offbeat as far as most people in the world are concerned. All of us are, in some way, slave to the idols and ideals that we grew up believing. Certain things make deep impressions on certain people. To me it often seems that there is really no such thing as free thinking (barring the advancement researchable in Civilization 3).
But even these thoughts couldn't shield from the shock of discovering that the same thing applies to me. Not that I didn't know it already. It's just not the same, knowing something and experiencing something for yourself.
A necessary digression now in order to explain this properly.
I've long held a wish to write a novel - a series of novels actually - in my favourite genre, fantasy fiction for young adults. Some years ago I started writing it. I wrote three chapters and didn't understand why they made for such boring reading. I continued till seven chapters at a later point of time, thinking that the experience can only be instructive. It was, and I realized that I had to apply some of my experience in theater for writing the novel, as my characters lacked depth and individuality. I mean, they were all turning out to sound like me.
Ok, one obvious error in writing style discovered. I started over and wrote upto ten chapters this time. I still didn't like what I was seeing. It struck me that I'd completely neglected to build a picture of the world I was creating. In fantasy, this is even more important because you are talking about something that people are not familiar with. My characters don't live on Earth as we know it. I must pay more attention to describing places, landscapes, people, objects, etc to bring out the feel of the world I am creating. Back to the drawing board.
I started afresh and got till approximately the same stage. And, you guessed it, I was still unhappy with what I was reading. I was not striking a balance between making the book interesting in a continuous, absorbing manner; and building up the story according to the big picture, the overall plot of the tale that I had in mind. Worse, it appeared to be very similar to existing works of fantasy fiction. I know the overall story is quite original, but as I read it, I couldn't help but feel as though I've read all this before.
Nearly two years after I abandoned the project for some kind of a flash of inspiration or enlightenment, I finally understand. I just re-read Magician: Apprentice by Raymond Feist and realized that I've been subconsciously copying his basic characters in that story. That particular book was one of the first books I'd read in the fantasy genre that really made a huge impression on me (I'm leaving Tolkien out of the discussion for now...). And I know now, that I just have to change a couple of basic ideas and I'm all ready to start writing again. And revise it any number of times it takes to get it right. So far I've written about 30,000 words over all these attempts. I have no doubt that I will require at least that much effort again before I can get past those first ten chapters and be satisfied with what I'm writing.
Unfortunately I've already made other plans for my life over the next few years. Perhaps, by the time I'm thirty or forty I'd have written one complete book. For my satisfaction alone. I don't care if it's never published. But I know that I will write. It's as though it's in my blood. As though it's been prophesied.
Impressions.... they creep in, unnoticed, unannounced. They make us what we are, they make us believe what we believe. Perhaps it is only for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
The Simple Life
Yesterday I went to Kaushik's house. It felt strange because I'd never visited him while we were in school, even though he was one of my best friends at that time. Anyway, I was served lunch and when we returned to his room, I propped myself on a pillow, stretched out my legs as though I were in my own house and we watched an Audrey Hepburn movie which I was sure Kaushik must have already watched as many times as I've read Second Foundation.
At the end of a relaxed and enjoyable two hours we went to Landmark to go book-hunting. After introducing him to all my favourite Fantasy authors, I picked up a Raymond Feist and an Ursula Le Guin, both of which I hadn't read before. Which was strange because my brother and I only buy books that we are sure we will read over and over again, but since I trust these two authors to not write boring books I bought them anyway. Then we pored over the Science Fiction and Literature sections, and for a change Kaushik bought books on my recommendation: my favourite Mark Twain (A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court) and my favourite Ursula Le Guin (The Dispossessed). And then, having each reached our five hundred rupee budgets exactly, we browsed around a little more in the books and movies sections and finally retired for some junk food before bidding each other farewell for the next two months at least.
I returned to the hostel, and after some idle chatter and a brief dinner I picked up the Raymond Feist. I hadn't gone far before there was a general consensus to play bridge, so another gleeful hour or so later, people retired to their rooms, I returned to my book and finished it in one sitting. That's how I read all fantasy books; they are exciting and imaginative adventures that make for excellent light reading. It was four in the night (or early morning, if you prefer) by the time I went to bed.
It was well past noon by the time I woke up. I checked my mail, got ready, and went for lunch, and here I am typing out this blog.
I guess anyone who managed to get this far reading this post must be wondering why I am saying all this. After all, I am not in the habit of blogging the events of my life the way half the blog world does... I only record my thoughts on some interesting subjects. The answer is that, I am wondering whether this kind of a day will ever happen again in my life - movie, book, bridge, blogging... This is the simple life; relaxed, idyllic, thoroughly enjoyable. Already the weight of my responsibilities and work in the real life have returned to rest upon my shoulders. And my life is poised to enter a new chapter: the end of college and the beginning of a job. Surely life will only become more stressful, more time-constrained, more adult from now.
Is this going to be the end of an era? Or will I still be playing computer games and reading fantasy novels and playing bridge even after another five years? Every time I say that life has become so complicated these days, I end up contradicting myself, saying that life is so simple and if only things would stay that way....
Oh well. I sure was anxious when school got over and college was about to start. Now its the whole thing all over again. But this time I'm not going to let the wave hit me and leave me gasping for breath. I'm going to ride it, ride on the crest of the wave, look to the new horizons with anticipation, with the wind in my hair and and a capricious surfboard at my feet, subdued and controlled by my will. How different can it be from roller skating anyway? I'm not afraid to fall.
At the end of a relaxed and enjoyable two hours we went to Landmark to go book-hunting. After introducing him to all my favourite Fantasy authors, I picked up a Raymond Feist and an Ursula Le Guin, both of which I hadn't read before. Which was strange because my brother and I only buy books that we are sure we will read over and over again, but since I trust these two authors to not write boring books I bought them anyway. Then we pored over the Science Fiction and Literature sections, and for a change Kaushik bought books on my recommendation: my favourite Mark Twain (A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court) and my favourite Ursula Le Guin (The Dispossessed). And then, having each reached our five hundred rupee budgets exactly, we browsed around a little more in the books and movies sections and finally retired for some junk food before bidding each other farewell for the next two months at least.
I returned to the hostel, and after some idle chatter and a brief dinner I picked up the Raymond Feist. I hadn't gone far before there was a general consensus to play bridge, so another gleeful hour or so later, people retired to their rooms, I returned to my book and finished it in one sitting. That's how I read all fantasy books; they are exciting and imaginative adventures that make for excellent light reading. It was four in the night (or early morning, if you prefer) by the time I went to bed.
It was well past noon by the time I woke up. I checked my mail, got ready, and went for lunch, and here I am typing out this blog.
I guess anyone who managed to get this far reading this post must be wondering why I am saying all this. After all, I am not in the habit of blogging the events of my life the way half the blog world does... I only record my thoughts on some interesting subjects. The answer is that, I am wondering whether this kind of a day will ever happen again in my life - movie, book, bridge, blogging... This is the simple life; relaxed, idyllic, thoroughly enjoyable. Already the weight of my responsibilities and work in the real life have returned to rest upon my shoulders. And my life is poised to enter a new chapter: the end of college and the beginning of a job. Surely life will only become more stressful, more time-constrained, more adult from now.
Is this going to be the end of an era? Or will I still be playing computer games and reading fantasy novels and playing bridge even after another five years? Every time I say that life has become so complicated these days, I end up contradicting myself, saying that life is so simple and if only things would stay that way....
Oh well. I sure was anxious when school got over and college was about to start. Now its the whole thing all over again. But this time I'm not going to let the wave hit me and leave me gasping for breath. I'm going to ride it, ride on the crest of the wave, look to the new horizons with anticipation, with the wind in my hair and and a capricious surfboard at my feet, subdued and controlled by my will. How different can it be from roller skating anyway? I'm not afraid to fall.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
No Fear!
As a kid I was a shy and introverted chap.
A very short and simple statement to make, one which you would read and say, "Oh! Okay. Guess he's changed a bit now," and go on with your life.
If only the implications of that statement were that simple! I was always the quiet kid in the corner. When we had free time, I would read a book or write something instead of screaming at the top of my lungs like all other normal kids. I couldn't talk to teachers or elders in general without stammering. I hardly spoke to cousins. I never spoke to girls.
But most of all, I had this acute case of stage fright. So much so that my class teacher in third grade let me play oliver twist so that if I stammered, it would appear to be part of my script! So much so that everytime I had to make a little speech or presentation in class, I would end up making such a sorry spectacle of myself that I could see the sympathetic look on every face. The look that says, "Poor guy. Such a bright, intelligent chap. But God gives and God takes. He can't speak for nuts." Well, to hell with that stereotype. I took it up as a challenge after one disastrous lecture on lasers that I delivered in ninth grade.
From then on, I attended classes on public speaking. I participated in activities that put me on stage. I started talking a little more, in general. And I listened to loads of advice.
Progress has been excruciatingly slow. If today, I can confidently hold my own in a conversation with any number of people of any age, no matter whether they are acquaintances or good friends or professors or relatives, it because I've worked hard to get here. Today I have as many good friends among girls as I do with guys. Today I can choose to be witty and charming (as far as my limited social abilities allow me) when in a gathering, though I may not be so simply because I feel it's a little hypocritical.
The reason I am talking about all this now is because I went on stage yesterday for a panel discussion with a few other students and professors, plus a sizeable (>40) audience, and I did not stammer once. I was easy, comfortable, composed and confident. Never mind how mundane the topic ("Generation Gap"). Never mind the familiarity of my friends and good old CLT. I've never behaved this naturally on stage in my life. In a sense I feel that I have reached one little milestone in my journey.
What is next?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
A very short and simple statement to make, one which you would read and say, "Oh! Okay. Guess he's changed a bit now," and go on with your life.
If only the implications of that statement were that simple! I was always the quiet kid in the corner. When we had free time, I would read a book or write something instead of screaming at the top of my lungs like all other normal kids. I couldn't talk to teachers or elders in general without stammering. I hardly spoke to cousins. I never spoke to girls.
But most of all, I had this acute case of stage fright. So much so that my class teacher in third grade let me play oliver twist so that if I stammered, it would appear to be part of my script! So much so that everytime I had to make a little speech or presentation in class, I would end up making such a sorry spectacle of myself that I could see the sympathetic look on every face. The look that says, "Poor guy. Such a bright, intelligent chap. But God gives and God takes. He can't speak for nuts." Well, to hell with that stereotype. I took it up as a challenge after one disastrous lecture on lasers that I delivered in ninth grade.
From then on, I attended classes on public speaking. I participated in activities that put me on stage. I started talking a little more, in general. And I listened to loads of advice.
Progress has been excruciatingly slow. If today, I can confidently hold my own in a conversation with any number of people of any age, no matter whether they are acquaintances or good friends or professors or relatives, it because I've worked hard to get here. Today I have as many good friends among girls as I do with guys. Today I can choose to be witty and charming (as far as my limited social abilities allow me) when in a gathering, though I may not be so simply because I feel it's a little hypocritical.
The reason I am talking about all this now is because I went on stage yesterday for a panel discussion with a few other students and professors, plus a sizeable (>40) audience, and I did not stammer once. I was easy, comfortable, composed and confident. Never mind how mundane the topic ("Generation Gap"). Never mind the familiarity of my friends and good old CLT. I've never behaved this naturally on stage in my life. In a sense I feel that I have reached one little milestone in my journey.
What is next?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Defining Solitude
When I was telling Niyati about how I feel that Music and Poetry are two of the best companions one can have, something struck a chord in me. I think the real culprit, causing boredom, and escalating loneliness, is sheer laziness.
In general, when I feel bored, I look for a book (ebooks are slightly painful... when I say book, I refer to the paper ones). If I don't have an interesting one, I turn to my comp and start playing whichever RPG or Strategy game I'm currently obsessed with. If there is no game that can hold my interest at the moment, I idly browse the web. I look at my skates and think about setting out, but drop the idea for lack of company. I might pick up my cell phone and call or sms someone for no reason at all. I might even try to do my project work. But the net result, usually, is simply that I end up feeling dead bored. And lonely.
Why do I not turn to the one thing that has been my constant companion while growing up? Words. I mean, in the written form. I love to write. Poetry; Articles; Essays; Plays; Short Stories; even tried to write a novel! Laziness, with a capital L. If only I pick up the pen and start writing something, I'll get engrossed in it and I won't even feel time flowing. But I have to pick up the pen first.
Or why not just listen to some music? There are infinite bands to check out, recommended by various friends. I just have to make the effort to search for them and download them. There's nothing I can't find on the IIT LAN.
So having realized what I'm doing wrong, you might think that the problem is half solved. But you're wrong: such things don't apply to lazy people.
But, that's not what I really wanted this post to be about.
I define Solitude as the state of mind wherein one keenly feels the lack of company. This is very different from defining it simply as the lack of Human company.
You are not alone when you're reading a book.
You are not alone when you're listening to a song you like.
You are not alone when you're writing: be it poetry or prose.
You are not alone when you're going for an evening stroll: Nature is with you. The stars and the trees... and if you're in IIT, the deer.
You are not alone when you're sleeping or meditating: the whole world is with you.
You are alone if you are left with nothing but your thoughts. Your thoughts are you. You can't keep yourself company! Thats why the worst thing possible is to be alone AND depressed. It can only lead to a feedback loop of MORE depression and MORE loneliness!
I guess this is why kids have their own imaginary friends. Not me, though... even though I had few close friends, I had loads of books to read!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
In general, when I feel bored, I look for a book (ebooks are slightly painful... when I say book, I refer to the paper ones). If I don't have an interesting one, I turn to my comp and start playing whichever RPG or Strategy game I'm currently obsessed with. If there is no game that can hold my interest at the moment, I idly browse the web. I look at my skates and think about setting out, but drop the idea for lack of company. I might pick up my cell phone and call or sms someone for no reason at all. I might even try to do my project work. But the net result, usually, is simply that I end up feeling dead bored. And lonely.
Why do I not turn to the one thing that has been my constant companion while growing up? Words. I mean, in the written form. I love to write. Poetry; Articles; Essays; Plays; Short Stories; even tried to write a novel! Laziness, with a capital L. If only I pick up the pen and start writing something, I'll get engrossed in it and I won't even feel time flowing. But I have to pick up the pen first.
Or why not just listen to some music? There are infinite bands to check out, recommended by various friends. I just have to make the effort to search for them and download them. There's nothing I can't find on the IIT LAN.
So having realized what I'm doing wrong, you might think that the problem is half solved. But you're wrong: such things don't apply to lazy people.
But, that's not what I really wanted this post to be about.
I define Solitude as the state of mind wherein one keenly feels the lack of company. This is very different from defining it simply as the lack of Human company.
You are not alone when you're reading a book.
You are not alone when you're listening to a song you like.
You are not alone when you're writing: be it poetry or prose.
You are not alone when you're going for an evening stroll: Nature is with you. The stars and the trees... and if you're in IIT, the deer.
You are not alone when you're sleeping or meditating: the whole world is with you.
You are alone if you are left with nothing but your thoughts. Your thoughts are you. You can't keep yourself company! Thats why the worst thing possible is to be alone AND depressed. It can only lead to a feedback loop of MORE depression and MORE loneliness!
I guess this is why kids have their own imaginary friends. Not me, though... even though I had few close friends, I had loads of books to read!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
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