Reflections of a restless eccentric

This one is heavily inspired by a conversation with my better half--I am excerpting part of it here without prior permission. Hopefully, that should be fine!  :P My husband is a musical man, both by nature and nurture. He comes from a family where music is the norm more than the exception, and several of his relatives are examples of that. Coming to nurture, he's learnt to play the violin right from early childhood up to high school, and has a junior degree in it. He's also learnt the keyboard and guitar. He sings quite well, gamakas included. That apart, he also has this amazing ability that I envy- swaragnana - the ability to sing/play by ear. This requires one to identify swaras /notes spot on, and then replicate them perfectly-- an instrumentalist's forte. Given all this, I really love to listen to him play the violin. And this, I've discovered much to my dismay and sadness, he does very little of. :( So this was yet another time where I was trying to talk him

I feel like writing today. I was thinking about what I'd like to share with the rest of the world, and this instantly came to mind. It is of my favourite things, and coincidentally something that very few people are aware of: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Excerpting the author's description: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows  is a compendium of invented words written by John Koenig. Each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language—to give a name to emotions we all might experience but don’t yet have a word for. All words in this dictionary are new. They were not necessarily intended to be used in conversation, but to exist for their own sake; to give a semblance of order to a dark continent, so you can settle it yourself on your own terms, without feeling too lost—safe in the knowledge that we’re all lost. Glorious melancholy. That's the best description I can think of for this effort. The words provoke in you a sense of acute sorrow, and then soot

I would like to tell you a story today. A story that chronicles the events from my friend's life. Mind you, this is not a fairy tale. It is something that is normalised by society, and it appalls me because it is so horrifying. It shows how much dysfunction prevails today. Read on. Let me set the stage. Roughly six months ago, my friend C was looking for jobs. During one such search, she had three people interview her continuously without a break, the whole process lasting for around five hours. It was long past lunch when the last interview was done, and C was exhausted and hungry. She just wanted to go home. Imagine five hours of functioning at an intellectual peak without a break-- it drains you out to the point where you feel a bone-deep weariness. I have myself been here several times.  C introspected over the three interviews. She felt the first and second ones had gone really well. However, the third one she felt she'd screwed up-- her interviewer had been

I was in a flight back home sometime last week, and it was evening time. That single moment when vibrant dusk is giving way to pitch black night, and the lights of the world look like sparkly fairy lights. A lake shimmering in iridescent blue, bejeweled by a necklace of golden lights. Tall trees that are pleasantly green-black, swaying in the evening breeze. Houses and skyscrapers that loom tall, silhouetted by the vivid colors of sunset. Now imagine this picture from 30,000 feet in the sky: It looks a million times more beautiful, and I was in awe of the view. (The number of times I have flown is still under a dozen, so I am probably more prone to wonder at such spectacles than your normal urban citizen.:)) But then, everything looked so teeny-tiny. The cars and trucks cruising on the road looked like playthings of a toddler. The houses and skyscrapers resembled quaint Lego-block structures. The lakes and rivers looked like a tiny line of blue in a painting. In fact, the whole view

Finding it extremely difficult to find time to write of late, the plan is to write on my commute till balance in my universe is restored :) It is a restless evening of my vacation. I find myself keyed up at the thought of nothing to do -- it is an anomaly in my world of too many things and too little time. My restlessness builds up even more because I feel disconnected from the world- no Internet, no cellular coverage, even the idiot box is absent here-- although I usually abhor it, I find myself wishing for it. I am cornered to pick up that one book I packed, and I hate that I'm forced to read it rather than choosing to like I always do. I reluctantly pick it up, and it happens to be Adam Grant's "Originals". I start reading and I'm effortlessly drawn in by Grant's magic spell. And that's when the inspiration for this article struck! As my regular readers know, I have many times bemoaned the fact that I'm a chronic procrastinator. It is someth