What if....?

1. What if people in this world whimsically made decisions in their lives based on numbers? No, I am not talking about some astrological excursion, but something more naive, more un-rational. For instance, what if your girlfriend breaks up with you because she does not like your new phone number? For some idiosyncratic reason she does not like the pattern of 7s and 2s in your number. You say 7182477122, and she hangs up the phone and never sees you again. Again imagine you are flying into town, and you tell your folks the flight number 521 and they decide not to pick you up from the airport. Wouldn't that be fun? But we do not do that. Why not? Is there a reason? It is almost as if your girlfriend and your folks tell themselves, "What his phone number is or what his flight number is is pure chance. He does not have any control over that. He is just "given" these numbers." Is that right? They decide to forgive and overlook these small things. The boundaries of legitimacy and justification humanity seeks are not drawn on this landscape. Not yet, at least. These boundaries only come later, and little further down the line -- for instance, if after giving your girlfriend your phone no., you tell her not to call after 10 pm since you would be busy with other things, she would, quite justifiably, dump you. Where the boundaries are drawn is a matter of convention. But is it arbitrary? Can the whole of humanity easily will to change these boundaries simply because they want something different? Or is there a compulsion, a necessity, to this convention? Whatever it is, there is a lot of "covering up" that we do before we come to our sense of justice and normality. If we had covered up starting from a different point, we would have had a different set of conventions, a different dance to dance.

2. Imagine a world where academic people, researchers, do not depend on grants and scholarships to conduct their research and make their livelihood. What if only filthy rich people got into academia? Then, no one could pressurize them to finish their dissertation or book in a couple of years. They would have the required financial independence to prolong their projects until the project comes to its own fruition. The thoughts would come to them, and not viceversa. They would incorporate all the boredom, the deviations, the alterations of their moods, their natural growth into their works. This financial independence, more importantly, would give them freedom from the political status quo, the norms of bureaucracy, including the norms of scholarship. Perhaps then the quality of the works coming out of our academic institutions would also be a lot higher. Money is indeed underrated.

3. What if none of our languages had the active voice, and we conversed only with passive voice? We might not be better off, but perhaps we would've checked a lot of uncalled-for aggression in us.

Pet Peeve

I cannot stand someone insulting my intelligence. This happens especially when the other person tries to deceive me. I am not implying that it is impossible to deceive me, but only that when something is uncovered as deception, it no longer continues to be one. The deception itself or the intent behind it is not something totally bad by itself. I am no such purist. In fact, an immaculate deception has always intrigued my fancy. But the audacity or the stupidity to think that I will not figure out that I am being deceived hurts my intelligence. (I experienced this recently when grading papers of students (and I have also experienced this time and again dealing with different people). One Lisa thought that I could not differentiate between a Kant and a Lisa!)
Sometimes, I get the feeling that the deceiver knows that I know that I am being deceived. But then he tries to play this inarticulate game with me. He goes along with the deception, hoping that I will suppress this knowledge for some unknown reason against my own better sense. As if with a wink of an eye he can seduce me into his world, and then leave me stumped in the real world! In such cases, it is really a plea which says either that "Come on! You know how things are, you know how it is.. just pretend that you do not know what I am doing." Or that, "Come on... you have deceived and lied in the past too... you understand the need!" Sure I do, but I was the deceiver then! And I did not get caught!

Thoughts after 5 pm

1. The mark of being a great philosopher is that no thought, no sense, no nonsense, no action, should elude you. You should have surveyed the whole at that decisive moment of conception. After that, everything else is at your mercy. You are the potter who molds the clay. The world is your child, which will listen to you if you speak its dialect.
2. A scholar not only demands that you tell him something, but also that you mention to him aloud that you are telling that thing. He does not just open his eyes, but he really opens his eyes wide. He demands that you wear yourself on your sleeve.
3. In this sense, all of Western society since the beginning of its history has been 'scholarly'. The arguments, the debates, the philosophies, the archives, the psychoanalysis, the demand for freedom and individuality -- all as signs of giving to itself what it has already given to itself.
4. The non-scholarly Eastern society is for this reason not properly documented. Hence it risks losing itself to the clarity of the West.
5. The demand for scholarly clarity is ultimately a demand for completing one's death. It is a question of health - to seal this death off in order to inaugurate a new birth. But the Eastern wisdom believes that there is no death and no new birth, that in the demand for closure something vital irretrievably escapes the vicinity of the self - life. Hence the shifting and fluid individuality of the Eastern self.
6. Wittgenstein is to analytic philosophy what Christ is to Christianity. Both individuals were counter-factuals with respect to their followers.
7. It is true that the sense of what is written is not entirely at the hands of the writer. It awaits an appropriation and interpretation by its reader. This reader may be this very writer who has now dipped his pen in a different ink.

Very classical, very pristine, very rubbish (roobbish), very soapy, very British

One sure way to tell whether a nation is on the ascendency or descendency is to see how they perform, at the global arena, at their favorite sport(s). That's how the Greeks understood it; and if you look at the performances at Olympic Games in the last 50 or so years, you can tell the difference between India and China...

But be that as it may, let us talk about the servants of the Queen - the British. Anyone who has followed the exploits of the English in recent decades knows it is a bit of a nonsense. Now, I don't want to just bring out the negativities, although there are no positives to speak of, especially since I am not a getting-carried-away English journalist. I even have a soft corner for these sportsmen, especially since I have a habit of rooting for teams that don't win.

Take football for instance: the likes of Shearer, Beckham, Owen, Shelton, Rooney, Sherringham - all superstars on paper - can't win a bloooody international tournament! And most of these guys are already retiring. The only time England won the world cup was in 1966 at home soil. But they have no chance of winning anything outside, especially since they are able find a lot of excuses for their losses. But what makes this worse is their shameless, and quite stupid, media. They look at their sportsmen through high-powered lenses and bloat up what is really a speck. The sportsmen then convince themselves that they really are that good, they roll the drumbeat, but they never come on stage! They end up being whisperers and gossipers applauding a Brazil, a Argentina, a Italy, a Germany, and even recommending them to knighthoods. True servants!

But their cricket team is perhaps worse. The cricket media even. (Recently, I came across a headline on BBC (days before England's tour to NZ)which read: "Sidebottom refuses to be complacent"... is this bravery? who accepts to be complacent, anyway?) The last good English team had Botham, Lamb, Gower and Gooch. Since then it has been a big joke. They have repeatedly convinced themselves that Australia are really interested in playing Ashes against them. And so whenever they lose a series to a lesser team the captain ejects an excuse, "It is a learning experience... we are preparing for the Ashes". Bollocks! The Australian A team of the last 20 years could have beaten any English team of the same era. Yes, the 2005 Ashes victory was a fluke. No wonder all the English bowling heroes of that series are no longer in the team anymore.

The ENG. team's one-day style of playing is again stuck in the 80s. The only change now is that they do not mind wearing colored clothes, and they have stopped complaining that the new white ball swings too much. Not to mention all the tourist-like wicketkeepers and openers of the last decade, who pay a visit to the team and leave for some other business after just one series. Then the ridiculous coach ('Duncan Fletcher' -- was that guy for real?), then Ashley Giles!
And who has not giggled every now and then at their funny sounding names and totally-undeserving-favorite-player-nicknames? Sidebottom, Gilo (who also goes by 'Ash' and the 'King of Spain' - I am so glad there is an 'a' in Spain!), Athers, Banger, Bloodaxe (Ramprakash!). Even their beloved mediaman has a nickname - 'Aggers' - who lacks any independent perspective, but is a cheerleader for the team. Both the team and the media are awakened to reality, when an esteemed rival player (whom they will recommend to a knighthood, I'll bet) reminds them of this. How sad is this?

But let us the enjoy this travesty! The show must go on...

Life's cliches

It is a common cliche to note that the artist needs an occasion or a pretext which inspires him to let his creative juices out. The main fear of the artist is that he will internalize himself, which will result in his creative forces turning inward and burdening his back with a sack full of indispensibles. What lacks a context never takes birth, becomes a scholar, and ends up burning within itself like a dark inextingishable flame.

Perhaps, it is a cliche too to note that almost all of us live life without being born? We - artists without contexts, sailors without seas - we are life's cliches.