Sunday, December 12, 2010

Awesome Ringtone!

Friday, October 29, 2010

The Transmuting Phantom and its Ephemeral Existence – Part I

This post is about a chain of thoughts that almost made me let myself run over by a car.

I believe that one must brood upon and create ideas that one may not be otherwise required to. Being the (ostensibly) only living species that possesses the wherewithal to rationalize and philosophize, man is not only privileged but is also obligated to do so. Otherwise, one might as well be replaced by an animal or a robot (which will, by the way, pretty soon develop such faculties).

Coming back to “the” thought chain, it was a progeny of a conversation with one of my close friends. For the sake of this post, that friend shall be referred to as BMP2. The seminal conversation occurred largely in the most unexceptional fashion. However, it led to a major shift in my perception of BMP2. Later on, a retrospect on the outcome of the conversation led to “the” thought chain.

Before elaborating on the thought chain, a short discourse on my hypothesis of life. What is life? It is not, and I don’t expect too many dissents on this, just a corporeal operational system – the living body - inhabiting and serving a customary purpose in a co-operative societal setup. Consciousness. This is a word that is too often used (and even abused) for describing the core essence of life. What, then, is consciousness? It is the reply to this question that I will take a (rather juvenile and jejune) shot at giving.

Consciousness is plainly the cumulation of memories of different experiences. Here and during the remaining of this deliberation, I use the word experience interchangeably with perception of the experience. A new experience might react with, instantaneously or over a longer duration, other experiences in ways that alter one or more memories incurably. For example, an event “a” might be experienced by an individual “X” in a way a-X. Therefore, X’s consciousness is the set {a-X}. With the termination of X, the unique sub rosa set {a-X}, completely owned by and defining only X, ceases to exist. Hence {a-X} perishes with the death of X. This could explain why people write autobiographies. An autobiography could be X’s attempt to share and materialize {a-X} in a perdurable fashion. Such a venture, if successful, would result in sustained existence of {a-X} which is the definition and form of the person X. This points to X’s voyage in man’s eternal quest for immortality.

For a person Y such a set would be {a-Y}. The possibilities and permutations abound. The sets {a-X} and {a-Y} might have common elements. An element of one set might, directly or indirectly, influence an element of the other set. A new element of a set, apart from being added to the set, might alter the already existing elements of the set. In this aspect, such sets are dynamic and inter- & intra- dependant. Now, a lot of challenges and brickbats might be thrust upon this theory. Children, animals, artificial intelligence, nature, supreme consciousness, dreams are just some of the many entities from our immediate milieu, the justification and resolution of which demand a vigorous scrutiny of this theory. However, in the interest of the current context, I reserve such scrutiny for future time. In the meanwhile, I will have to be humoured by the prima facie acceptance of this theory.

Now, “the” thought chain. The conversation contained a particular soliloquy from BMP2 that changed markedly my perception of BMP2. So, my memory of the experience “BMP2” was altered irrevocably in one go. Though this was a drastic and glaring change in my consciousness, it pointed towards changes that often go unnoticed. These numerous, and very often unheeded, subtle metamorphoses occur in my, and for that matter in everyone’s, consciousness every second of our supraliminal existence. This implies a ceaseless modification in one’s consciousness during the course of one’s existence. Such modifications might have a somnolent tinge or might, in other cases, be accentuated.

What does the recognition of such a continuous change connote? Well, a lot. The first idea that germinated in my sciolistic mind was the futility of judging people. My perception of people, of whom I have a perception, mutates every passing moment. I might or might not be consciously aware of such mutations. Also, there is a possibility that after several modifications, I might come back a full circle – arriving at a particular perception of a person that had already existed in the past. In light of the ever-transmuting nature of this phantom, passing judgment on a person based on the prevailing perception is futile, if not wrong. Whether such estimates, an apt alternative to the word ‘judgment’, are required under certain circumstances or not is a different question.

Resorting to the set representation, my consciousness at some time “t” would be {a-Me-t}. Each element of this set is modified, to varying degrees, with each passing moment. At time t’ my consciousness would change into {a-Me-t'}. At time t, I might have utilized element ‘P-Me-t’ to form an opinion on a person P. At time t’, when P-Me-t would have developed into P-Me-t', I would realize that the earlier formed opinion has changed. So, the act of forming the opinion was an exercise in futility.

This thought is replete with logical inconsistencies and gaps. However, if the thought is accepted for a brief instant, an experiment that I carry out on myself with a lot of other thoughts, a liberating feeling surges. Many a knots, intricately wound together by grudges held against others, unravel.

The set representation of consciousness acted as a precedent to another thought, even more liberating. The proceeding thought was far-sweeping in the elements of life directly conflicted by it. This was the thought that almost made me let myself run over by a car. More on that later.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Will you respond to the question I've just asked?

Recently, I was training a few distributors on product application. At the end of the presentation, I was asked the most devious qestion ever drafted, "Are you taking questions?"

I was not taking any questions after the presentation. That's when I realized why the question was so devious. How was I supposed to respond to the question? Was ignoring the person an option?

P.S. Origin of facebook:

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Too Cool for Facebook

In the words of an enlightened rock band, “It doesn’t even matter how hard I try”…..because I can’t make myself like Facebook. I don’t think I’ll be able to have as much veneration as some of my friends have for Facebook.

One of my “friends” expressed disgust about people posting their travel plan on facebook in his status (Why the f do people put their travel plans on facebook? As if anyone cares). There were two “likes” and zero comments on the status. I moved the moise pointer to the white portion (that usually says ‘Write a comment…’ in a faded font) below his status. I typed the following, “Why the f do people philosophize about facebook statuses? As if anyone cares”

After musing over the course of my actions in the last few seconds for a few seconds, I removed my comment. I realize that I’m too cool to comment on facebook.

P.S. The total time spent was 2*(a few seconds). Also, had I commented, it would have led to recursive comments of the following form:
func Comment (char x[])
return ("Why the f do people philosophize about " & Comment (var x) & "? As if anyone cares");

P.S.P.S. The origin of Facebook is a very well-kept secret. Though what the rumour mills might generate, the concept of Facebook came from India (yes, our very own I-love-my-India). Mark Zuckerberg is an avid Bollywood fan and is said to secretly adore Shilpa Shetty. Watch 1:09-1:12 of this video:

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Saga of Put-tea and The Toaster

What thou shall be told is a tale that does not wag and a story that does not make a building. There was once a destitute who ailed from a disease so rare but so potent that even the mightiest of kings prostrate before the might (the one in “dude, it might vitiate us). The name was Put-tea. Not of the disease but of the destitute. The disease was, of course, Negativus Sense-o-humourus.

Hopeless, Popeless and dopeless, the non-catholic boy had no money even to buy weed. This did not make sense since grass was available for free. All the cows in his time were always high after consuming grass as it grew only on hilltops. The boy was mocked by friends and foes alike. While others children dreamed of becoming gallant warriors and shrewd rulers, Put-tea never had any money for dreaming. This did not make sense since people were never charged for dreams. Only batteries had to be charged for dreams.

However, the boy had one aspiration. This is the story of how Put-tea went about fulfilling his aspiration. Even now, Pu-tea’s attaining the unattainable provides hope and faith to kazillions of losers like us on this planet. Put-tea always wanted a toaster and desired to flaunt it with the greatest of pride. But, alas! The poor boy did not have money to buy one. This makes sense, one might say. Incorrect they are. Only Bengalis make Sens.

As a wise man once said; “He giveth thee more than what he taketh.” God not only took Put-tea’s sense of humour away, but reduced it to such negative levels that he became a sucking vortex of humour. He would even, inadvertently though, sap all the humour surrounding him. “What sap?”, one might say. “I’m kewl. What sap with you?”, would be my reply. However, God gave Put-tea an uncanny sense of music. He could convert any object lying around him into a musical instrument. He could conjure the most soothing music from the hardest of stones and from the most delicate of flowers.

On that fateful day, a messenger came from the faraway lands of Flaunton. The messenger sang of Flaunton’s requirement of the best musicians in the world. This was music to Put-tea’s ears, even literally. At Once did Put-tea decide to embark on the quest that eventually led to his aspiration. He was, at the time, experimenting with his prodigious talent in an alley named Once.

Put-tea reached Flaunton with no possessions except his lack of any trace of any sort of sense of humour. Impecunious, Put-tea had to create an ingenious musical instrument. This makes sense, one might say. Ever so, incorrect they are. Only perfumers make scents. Put-tea named the instrument bagpiper. Noticing his talent, Royal Band of Scotland inducted him in their legion.

Put-tea had to quickly adapt to the new life at RBS for its members did not have Faaltu Time. Adept as he was at music and its nuances, Put-tea quickly rose amongst the ranks in RBS. Soon, he acquired fame and money and with it, the finer art of flaunting. After months of dedicated hard work, Pu-tea decided that the time had arrived.
He threw a grand party and invited rulers of all lands. Investing all his hard-earned wealth in the party, Pu-tea left no scope for any improvement. Flawless were the decorations and unmatched the comforts. Choicest of chefs were hired and funniest of stand-up comedians invited. This did not make even an iota of difference as Put-tea sucked all the humour. “What iota?”, one might ask. “The same that makes Corolla.”, would be my reply.

Soon, everyone had arrived. The stage was set and the time was ripe. Put-tea went to the stage and paid everyone cash for their attention. This did not make sense since attention was free. People always had a tension in their lives. Everyone looked up to Put-tea. That moment depicted the triumph of a poor boy against all odds and is a testimony to grit and perseverance of humans. Amidst the wave of expectant and probing gazes, Put-tea said, “I would like to raise a toast.”

Out of a contraption held by Put-tea, out popped two loaves of bread.

P.S. Put-tea is also known as HKP, Plaster and Critique Gupta.

Sunday, March 07, 2010

Lethargy of Time

Failure at achieving aspirations. Not so successful in a peanut-paying job. No girlfriends, not even one. The launderette gets closed as soon as I reach there. For the sake of statistics, that too after carrying 2.25 kgs of clothes for almost 1.2 kms. Of course, the clothes had to be lugged back home. So 1.2 should theoretically be doubled. And yes, even though I’m utterly indifferent to, no comments/likes on facebook status. To top it all, three of the only four jeans possessed get stolen from the terrace. This last one is hitting below the belt.

I can make a blockbuster laugh-riot on this life. Always knew this is a practical joke being carried out on a large scale. Notwithstanding the fact that the joke is on me, I’ll laugh along. Though this axiom doesn’t need a mention, Andaz Apna Apna would (still) be the best comedy movie ever.

P.S. The following video re-affirms my awe of Pakistani music talent.