What is it, really, that you wish to achieve?

Couple of years ago, I attended a talk in New Delhi on restoration of the Red Fort. While I do not have any particular interest in the architecture of the Red Fort, and I knew the talk was organised and delivered mostly by architects, I was drawn to because the evening was to include a reading by William Dalrymple. I sped to the venue after work and got the best seat in the house.

I didn't have any expectations about how it would go. I thought they would make a case for restoration by relying on romantic metaphors and poetic versions of the history around el Fuerte Rojo. So it's fair to say I was surprised when the architects presented information about the Red Fort using slides with scientific diagrams and such. Blueprints, formulae, and so on. Physics, something I deliberately minimised contact with for majority of my school years, was the last thing I had expected to encounter.

I couldn't at all relate to what they were saying, even though I am wholly in favour of protecting monuments. That's because every ounce of the Red Fort's charm for me lies not in the red bricks or the dimensions of its arches and corridors, but rather in the life associated with it.

By the time they finished, I was craving to hear Dalrymple. He read from The Last Mughal. He read with passion and spiritedness, passages about how Ghalib felt about mangoes and how evenings in Chandni Chowk were steeped the fragrance of ittar, smoke from hookahs, and the intoxication of wine, as Ghalib and Zauq, under a canopy formed by the appreciation of listeners, contested for the position of 'poet of note'. His readings were evocative and powerful enough to ship me off on the sea of imagination to a time when the Red Fort was still alive. Not once did he resort to trigonometry, geometry or other mathematical devices to illustrate the significance of the structure in question.

I was surprised at their having chosen Dalrymple to aid them in their task, since he was alluding to something they hadn't even managed to get a whiff of. They were suggesting the Red Fort should be cared for because of the building's architectural genius. Whereas for Dalrymple, the Red Fort was of importance because it served as a backdrop for the lives that were lived both within and around it.

I find restoration itself to be a ticklish subject. Two questions seem pertinent- restoration for whom, and to what extent? If one wishes future generations to also be able to take pleasure from fragments of the past, it is a noble enough idea. Preservation is aimed at accomplishing just that. Restoration goes many steps further. While I disapprove of defacing monuments and approve of efforts to preserve them as they are, I am uncomfortable with the use of cement and paint to patch up cracks in buildings that have been around for centuries. I was mortified, for example, when I walked into Lodhi Gardens one evening to find that they had done up one of the structures in some ugly pink paint that they had hoped would resemble sandstone. I think cracks add character to old buildings. Every chunk that chips off due to the natural passage of time, adds greater depth to the history of the structure. Efforts aimed at restoration smack of an attempt to deny the passage of time. "Back to the way it was before" is an impossible position. Even if one managed to restore the Red Fort to its exact state at the time of the Mughal empire, the essence of that time would still remain lost. You may recreate a structure exactly as it was, and you may stand back with pride, only to realise that the thing out there is nothing like the thing within.

Loss itself is not a negative. Indeed it is one of the certainties of human existence. I personally regard it as a friend, a constant companion. But rather than resign ourselves to the void it leaves behind, might we look at the value it adds to our lives?

We nostalgically reflect only on that which has been lost. And the very thing being reflected on is changed by the act of reflection, for what is viewed through the lens of memory is not the thing in itself, but a representation of the thing. The picture that Dalrymple presents for example, of people chatting on the steps of the Jama Masjid at dusk, is made richer first by his own imagination of it, and then by the imagination of each reader who reads it. None of these people were actually there, yet each has a unique image of what it must have been like. Should we not just let these multiple imaginations prevail? Should we not let time go by and allow our memories to alter the impressions of the past?

So lovely is the recreation by memory of a lost beloved that I confess to harbouring a wish that I were the one lost. Just so that I too may be the subject of fond remembrance, for a moment or two.

Every time two of my many great loves meet, I skip a heartbeat!

Keh do in hasraton se kahin aur jaa basen

Itni jagah kahan hai dil-e-daagdaar mein

Song: Lagta nahin hai jee mera

Lyrics: Bahadur Shah Zafar (allegedly)

Singer: Habib Wali Mohammad

Dil khaakh ho gaya yeh kisi ko khabar nahi

Sab yeh samajh rahe hain tamanna nikal gayi

Song: Duniya badal gayi

Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni

Singers: Shamshad Begum and Talat Mahmood

I love locating, in Urdu/ Hindi poetry, psychoanalytically informed descriptions of a variety of human conditions.

The above mentioned are examples of what Bowlby and others would call "Avoidant Attachments"

Sigh.

Someone asked me few years ago if I "only listened to the world's most sad songs". I said I found more beauty in sad songs.

Isn't it wonderful when the expression of sadness is as lovely as this?

You know you are in England when...

1. You step on someone else's toes, and both of you end up apologising.

2. You hear people apologising for a lot of things. For example, asking for the bill after a meal at a restaurant ("Sorry, but I could I request the bill please?"), or asking for anything from the person at the till ("Sorry, but could I also have ....."). Sigh! All this unnecessary apologising!

3. You get referred to as "My love", "My darling", "Sweetheart", "My sweet" and other terms of endearment by total strangers. This usually happens if you are female and the stranger in question is male*

4. No. 3 feels strange at first, but you get used to it and may even find it kinda nice.

5. You feel compelled to hold doors open for other people who feel compelled to hold doors open for people after them and so on and so forth so that nobody except the first and last person to walk through the door actually has to pull/push it open. You may, like me, even wonder what the appropriate distance between you and the next person has to be, before this social rule of holding the door open comes into play.

6. People will often ask you if you would like to do something for them (For example, "Would you like to pop your PIN in there for me?") Now there are two things to be mindful of here. Firstly, they are actually not interested in whether you would like to do the thing in question or not, but just want you to do it. Secondly, do not be confused by the "for me" at the end. The only person you're likely to be doing the thing in question for is yourself. When I am at the receiving end of this particular question, I feel like clarifying that I would do it, but solely for my own benefit.

7. Bus stops are named after pubs nearby, rather than the names of the streets they are on. Says a lot about what the real landmarks are.

8. You begin to realise that the word "Cheers" is filled with possibilities, and in the past your usage of the word was rather limited. You probably just said it before sharing a drink (or some sort of other consumable good) with near and dear ones, but now find that it replaces "Thanks", "Bye", "Take care" or other social niceties.

9. The greeting of choice is usually followed by "You alright?". This is something that befuddles me. I usually ask people if they are alright when I suspect that they might not be. Personally, if I had to choose, I prefer the more open ended "How are you?"

10. A bright sunny morning can turn into a grey, wet afternoon, transform into a bright sunny, evening before ending up as a windy, dark night. The eye-rolling can stop. You think you can be in England without commenting on the weather?! The famous English obsession with weather-chat is no myth my friends!

(Note: This list is a work-in-progress and will be updated over time. After all, the learning never stops)

* Edit: I was later informed that the reverse is also true. Whether equally or not remains to be decided.

She rubbed, scrubbed and scraped until

her palms were red and sore

But the writing on the wall remained

Taunting her more and more

Embarrassed and ashamed she was

About her disfigured core

And pleaded and begged for time to rewind

To the way it was before

Speaking of birthdays...

Holy Cow: I missed the runts' birthday

forgot

The 'wise' one: Even I forgot

......

Holy Cow: How does one wish babies anyway !

s

The 'wise' one: You wish the parents

Holy Cow: yeah, I guess the parents have done more work than the kids to ensure another birthday.
Birthdays are silly. As Seinfeld said, the only thing you're celebrating is the fact that you managed to stay alive for the last 364 days.
I paraphrase, of course. What he said was probably funnier.

Kya hai bharosa aashiq dil ka, aur kisi pe yeh aa jaaye....

Readers of this blog who have found enough shreds of interest by which to hang on to it over the last two or so years that it has been around, may have got the impression that I don't particularly favour the rule of reciprocity in matters of love, kindness, sensitivity and such. All things nice, if you please. My policy is largely one of - I do it because I want to do it, and if you don't want to reciprocate I have absolutely no right to ask you to. I mean, it's the only rational way to be isn't it? We do what we want, the other does what he/she wants and sure it would be nice for the others' wants to be the same as our want but when it isn't so it really is arrogant for us to demand that it be so. No?

The sentiment of 'iloveyouwithallmyheartandsoul' is a very common theme of songs from Hindi films (Though this post is more about songs from the 50s, 60s and 70s, it could very well apply today). Slightly less pervasive is the expression , in varying shapes and sizes, of the sentiment 'howniceitwouldbeifyoucouldlovemetoo'. Next comes the 'iknowyoushallneverloveme' which at times is tied to the preceding sentiment by threads of despair and futility. This third sentiment is in most cases also accompanied by the helpless 'butishallcontinuetoloveandlongforyou'.

Moving, heart wrenchingly beautiful songs of love-filled despair. I am in no way mocking them. No sir. I like to listen to them, love them, and live them. Read the first paragraph and be convinced that I swear by such sentiments!

Be that as it may, there come along certain songs bearing sentiments that are quite the opposite. Unlike the above-mentioned variety that seep naturally into your skin and become a part of your existence, the latter variety of songs brazenly float in through the front door on a magic carpet of melodies and you only realise you let them in after you have spent a good second or two in awe of their presence. Much like guests who annoy us by walking in uninvited but do so bearing wonderful presents to placate us, thereby leaving us doubtful about whether to proceed with our original decision to throw them right out, with these songs, we might be angry with them for upsetting the equilibrium of our unhappybutcontentintheirunhappiness hearts, but find we cannot do anything about it because a part of us is taken in by the novelty of their message and wants to hear more.

For those unable to decipher my very unambiguous description ( :-p ) allow me to clarify what songs and sentiments I mean.

The songs I find refreshing and belonging to the second category as described above don't care for supplication and unrequited love. They mean business. Love is a two way street, and I certainly don't intend to walk up and down it by myself. It is conditional, reciprocal, and at times, yes, vengeful.

I have recently been on a spree of appreciating such songs and so an example comes easily to mind, allowing me to illustrate. (In the following example, I am using the word "I" for the singer and "you" for the one being sung to. I am not trying to wave my fists at the reader. This is for the sake of convenience. One does not like to go on talking like this for a long time about complex matters should the other lose track of what is being said and fails to understand the point, does one?)

Song: Haseen ho tum

Lyrics: Hasrat Jaipuri

Singer: Mohd. Rafi

Film: Badtameez

"Haseen ho tum khuda nahi ho, tumhara sajda nahi karenge

Magar mohabbat mein hukm doge, to haste haste yeh jaan bhi denge"

(You are only human, albeit of the attractive kind, and that isn't enough to warrant me getting down on my knees before you. However, though I will not offer you salutations and adoration unnecessarily, if you were to reciprocate my feelings my dear there would be no limit to what I would be willing to do for your sake)

"Hamari nazron ka shukr kijiye, ki aasmaan par tumhe bithaya

Hamare dil ko duaen dijiye, ki dhadkanon mein tumhe basaya"

(Rather than engaging in self depreciation and suggesting that the you deserve much more than I can offer, I suggest that you ought to be grateful to me for having considered you worthy of my affection. What a healthy, even if slightly pompous, attitude!)

"Bulandiyon se giro ge tum bhi, agar nigahon se hum girenge"

(A subtle threat, that you will have a rather nasty fall from the pedestal on which I placed you, in the event that you judge me unfavourably)

"Hamare jaise agar hain lakhon, tumhare jaise bhi kam nahi hain

Jo khud patthar se phod le sar, woh aur honge woh hum nahi hain"

(If you think there are millions like me, allow me to remind you that you aren't one in a million either. There may be others willing to bring about their own destruction in longing for you, but I am not one of them)

I am aware of course, of how grossly inadequate my explanations in English are but, in the spirit of the song, I am not going to be overly apologetic about it. Anyone who doesn't understand Hindi should be grateful for any attempt by me to make things comprehensible :-)

I like the song because it dares to say things others songs don't, and it is grounded in unwavering self respect, self awareness and self control.

It's a perfectly healthy attitude to have if you ask me (and I know no one really asked me, but this is my blog and if I can't lend it some metaphorical elasticity then there is really no justice in the world! None!!)

All it does is remind you to be critical of your love for the one you love, to remember that you may sometimes, perhaps, in the heat of passion judge someone to be more terrific than they really are, to not feel guilty about your rage, to accept that the other does not care for your pleas, to appreciate that while they have a right to do so, you need not join them and double the blow to your feelings and finally, eventually, move the hell on.

I recommend this song to anyone who has tried to nurse a broken heart and has felt the ache and longing for that which cannot be.

You will either identify with it or you won't.

If you do, it will probably make you feel better about life and yourself.

If you do not, then just find it in yourself to appreciate this sore (but defiant) thumb of songs.

Oh this grey country !

It is 10:00 AM and all the curtains are open. Yet, I am having to sit under glowing, yellow, artificial light.

¡Qué ridículo!

TOI really knows how to pick the right words

"SHIMLA: After Vidarbha farm widow Kalawati, it was the turn of Nand Lal, a poor driver, to hog the limelight, thanks to Congress general secretary secretary Rahul Gandhi who showed interest in his well-being."

-----------

Without elaborating on the specific nature and level(s) of my discomfort with the above-mentioned lines, I think there is something seriously wrong with the socio-political situation of a country where a newspaper article begins with these words.

Palomas

Location:

Barcelona, Spain

Oh these little gendered boxes into which we must all fit!

(Started writing this some time in March 2008)

For a long time I have held the opinion that men are also creatures oppressed by society.

What made me realise this again was an incident that occurred involving my car and me. Basically, it wouldn't start. Even though I have been driving for about 6 years now, and know where the hawa-paani goes, I get stuck when something out of the ordinary happens. I was quite close to home, so our driver came and tried to figure stuff out for me, and was soon joined in by other men eager to help. I was feeling quite silly just standing around helplessly in the parking lot.

As a woman, if I don't know much about cars, I know I will not be mocked. I feel quite comfortable asking for help and admitting my limitations. I have to admit, that a woman can play the "bhaiya, dekho gaadi start hi nahi ho rahi" (The "Look, my car wont start" plea) card. They don't expect us to know anyway. So they have mixed feelings of superiority, sympathy and wanting to be the knight in shining armour to save the damsel in distress.

What would have happened if a man had been driving? If stuck, I doubt he would be able to ask for help as easily as I could. He would of course be crumbling under the pressure of the expectation of having to know. He would fear becoming the subject of other men's jokes- "Arre yeh bhi nahi pata? Aur saala gaadi chalata hai!

I felt bad, and I sighed for women and men. Women and men who are members, perpetrators and victims of a society where expectations of one's capability are frequently based on one's gender.

Two days later, someone sent me a ".pps" entitled "Boutros Boutros Ghali's Thoughts on Women"

Some seem poignant enough to be shared here now

"For every strong woman tired of faking weakness, there is a weak man tired of faking strength. For every woman tired of being labeled 'emotional', there is a man who has been denied the right to cry. For every sportswoman whose femininity is questioned, there is a man forced to compete in order to give testimony of his virility. For every woman who has not had access to a dignified salary, there is a man forced to bear the economic responsibility for another human being. For every woman who steps forward towards her freedom, there is a man who rediscovers his road to liberty."

I don't know if BBG really thought these thoughts, but it doesn't matter. At least not for this post.

In a dissertation submitted a few years ago, I volunteered the suggestion that the solution to societal problems pertaining to gender lies in a mythological construct- Ardhinareshwara. A symbol of a God who is half male and half female. In the language of Carl Jung, someone who combines the Anima and Animus in perfect balance. Gender stereotypes that lie at the bottom of nearly all oppressive attitudes and practices against men and women will dissipate if one recognises as one's ideal, the attainment of an inner self that is 'human' rather than 'man' or 'woman'. Isn't that obviously a more wholesome ideal to aspire towards, than shutting off your 'masculine' or 'feminine' side?

I dislike using these terms. I recognise that using gendered terms to signify a certain way of being automatically assumes the very categorisation based on gender that I am trying to place the blame on for many of society's problems. As I discussed at a conference on Carl Jung with my good friend Comfort, I had a problem with his use of the words Anima and Animus to mean the unconscious feminine parts in the male and the unconscious masculine parts in the female respectively. Of course, I understand that Jung used the words he did, and I am using the words that I am, partly for linguistic convenience, and partly in recognition of the fact that society is organised a certain way, and in order to move forward from that way to a better one, one must begin by communicating in the language of the present. I am merely highlighting the gendered nature of our constructions by asking - Who decided that these parts were feminine or masculine? Let it be known that I do resent the fact that certain traits are considered 'masculine' or 'feminine'.

For women, this coming together of so called masculine or feminine traits may involve, among other things, admitting their interest in football (and having a discussion about it where one's views are taken seriously rather than assumed to be the result of a crush on a good-looking footballer!), curiosity to learn how a car works, or greater freedom to follow their chosen career path. For men, it might lead to being able to admit they have no interest in sports or don't know how to fix a broken car engine using their (pardon the metaphor) big, manly tool.

I don't think it is fair that women have the option of staying home and not working after marriage, for example, where the very idea that a man should want to do so is regarded with shock and horror. Most people dislike working, but do it because they have to. Why is it okay for women to relinquish economic responsibility for themselves, but god forbid a man should do the same ? It is sad that one has to work to survive, that much is true. But given that the state of affairs is such, given that everyone must work to survive, why are women excluded more easily from this "everyone" than men are?

Nor do I appreciate the fact that a woman has to know how to cook, while a man can get by on takeaways for years without having to hear "Tsk tsk, you should learn how to cook!", or be received with shock and surprise when they admit they enjoy cooking. Do men not eat or enjoy home cooked meals? Or do women have fragile digestive systems that can't stomach takeaways? As an example I offer myself. I never cooked for the first 24 years of my life. Then I moved to a foreign country and picked up the ladle and pan. Not because of any externally imposed expectations. My actions were motivated wholly by self preservation and interest because a. I am a vegetarian and b. I love Indian food and neither of these two things are available in sufficient amount and/or variety in my new country of residence.

People's decisions about their own and others' lives should be based on what is best for an individual, rather than for a man or woman. Different rules mean different attitudes and assumptions about what a man or woman can do/should do/ should not do/ is good at/ is fit for/ or deserves. And that, in my humble opinion, is something we can all do without, non?

Oh how glorious the day shall be, when we no longer say or hear the words "Be a man!" or "Don't do that, it's not womanly!"

The latter brings to my mind a situation in which this phrase is most often used- adopting a certain posture while seated. Agreed that it may look unattractive when a woman sits slouched in her seat with her legs splayed apart. But believe me, the sight of a man doing the same doesn't really set hearts racing either.

Wanted - An entertaining exercise that stretches the limits of what you thought you could withstand

Despite the fact that the question of why someone in their right mind would want to showcase Salman Khan's dancing is beyond my limits of comprehension, I have to say that Wanted was bizarre, entertaining and all in all quite hilarious. Not because of subtle humour or clever, witty dialogues but because if you watch an ageing SK gyrate to songs like "Your papa says you love me, mama says you love me, so love me baby love me", falling off your seat clutching your aching stomach while your eyebrows threaten to shoot up over your head in absolute shock is a natural consequence.

My partner in crime and I went to watch it just for the heck of it. We read this review, which ignited enough curiosity in us. Plus, when something is described as being extremely unpleasant, I have an uncontrollable urge to experience it. It can't just be bad though. It has to be extremely so. Ask my friends from my graduation and post graduation days and they will confirm it, for many a bad milkshake/ song/ book etc have been thrust upon them by yours truly with the words "You have to drink/listen to/ read this just to experience how bad it is". Call me crazy but it broadens your life experience and I stand by it.

Wanted was one such experiment, and it was worth it.

While I realise that I cannot do justice to the entire film, let me share with my readers what I considered to be some of the highlights.

The story isn't bad. Which is to say that there is one, and that in itself was a pleasant surprise. Is it far fetched? Of course! But few Hindi films aren't so I am prepared to excuse that.

Salman Khan is physically fit, slimmer than he has been in the last decade, and quite old. You can use as much concealer as you like my friend, but no one can hide those bags under your eyes. You could go shopping and bring back 1 Kgs. of alu-pyaaz in each of them. He can't dance, could never really act and can still give a ventriloquist a run for his money. I don't know how he manages to deliver his dialogues without the slightest parting of the lips!

Ayesha Takia is, well...You know the type of roles Katrina Kaif plays in action packed films starring Akshay Kumar? Where all that is required of her is to be dolled-up and stand around? Furniture type, if you will. Ayesha Takia's role in Wanted is similar, except she ends up being a melodramatic item of furniture. Like a sofa that occasionally displays signs of psychosis. Seriously, while I do not wish to trivialise the conflict that one may be fraught with when one falls in love with a contract killer (you know, the whole should-I-love-you-or-should-I-hate-you and I-can't-decide-if-you're-good-or-bad type of conflict), it has to be said that in case of Ayesha's character it ends up looking more like a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

All credit for this chaos must go to the dialogue/script writer however. There are times in the movie when Salman Khan and Ayesha Takia are interacting, and one wonders if they are even talking about the same thing.

As for her appearance, I have always thought that her facial features are too childlike when compared with the rest of her. The filmmaker probably had a similar idea, as he has made full use of both her innocent expression and her large breasts alternating between references to her "fit body" and tight clothing one the one hand, and a naive young girl in mean, mad Mumbai who has to grapple with lecherous policemen and lovestruck landlords while falling for a scoundrel like Salman on the other.

Speaking of lecherous, I think Mahesh Manjrekar is quite good as the sleazy cop. Some men on screen might make your skin crawl and make you want to kick them in the balls, but that just means they're great actors! I swear there were times in the movie where Mahesh made me cringe.

The camerawork reminded me of Crank combined with Hindi television soap operas. There are freezes, fast forwarded clips, and the dizzying camera angles that are much loved by Indian soap directors where there are repetitive shots in quick succession of the same person turning around, or when they zoom in to a person's face again and again to indicate heightened emotion. This is usually accompanied by some kind of tree-swishing-in-a-violent-storm music.

The song and dance, sigh! Oh the brutal murder of lyrics, rhythm and choreography with one fatal blow! Apparently there was a trailer for this movie which suggests that Salman does everything (killing, stabbing, swearing, loving, eating, drinking etc etc) casually, except dancing. You may regard that as a compliment till you see the music videos. That's when you realise that he takes dancing seriously because indeed, it is what he needs to work on the most. He reminded me of a guy I saw at the IIT Bombay festival a few years ago. That guy came forward in front of a room full of people to sing "Wonderwall". He blew it. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y ! But I applauded him for his courage anyway.

There was one good thing about Salman's dancing however. I am always sympathetic to the extras who never get the credit they deserve (and this is not just in Bollywood. Have you watched the video of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal"? Do the extras not dance as well as MJ himself?!!). Watching the dancing in this movie, one can't help but admire the extras. Salman makes them look terrific!

There ARE a few good dialogues, and I mean four or five. The villains look convincingly villainous, except for an item girl aspiring for the status of "Behen" (which I have to say, doesn't sound nearly as underworld-ly as "Bhai") called Shayana who has very unattractive legs.

All in all, the movie ends up making you laugh because it is so inexplicably bizarre. I enjoyed watching it, more so than Dil Bole Hadippa. Let us now carry out some reflection to try and analyse why this was the case.

Dil Bole Hadippa had the misfortune of combining the issue of women's representation in sports at a regional or national level with the usual romantic elements typical of a Yash Chopra production. It was in a sense like Chak De India minus the good performances, good dialogues, subtlety and seriousness but with the Yashraj attempts at light comedy and romance thrown in. Even if we forget about, among other misrepresentations, Rani's garish clothes (not commonly seen in Amritsar), the movie fails to fulfill either criteria. The Indo-Pak tournament cornily called "Aman Cup" or Shahid and Rani's love story don't really warm the cockles of your heart. Nor does Rani's transformation in the end from a (reasonably convincing!) cute Sikh man to a foundation and eyeshadow covered beauty drive home the point of women trying to make it in the man's world that professional cricket still largely is. It failed in my opinion because it was ambitiously trying to achieve too much.

In contrast, my friends, Wanted doesn't seem to have any such ambitions. In fact, one is compelled to conclude that the movie doesn't have much of a point at all. It just is.

What really cracked me up throughout the film was the image of members of the British Board of Film Certification, and possibly Sir Quentin Thomas (President of the BBFC) having to sit through this film, probably more than once, in order to determine what classification it should get.

One flew over the Cuckoo's nest, but I flew over London's best

And I spied with my little eye...

...Bridges on the river Thames...

A panorama of a mega-city ....

And two very wide-set eyes...

Psychotherapists are people too

I want to set the record straight and say a few things in defense of the much misunderstood profession of psychotherapy. Namely, what a psychotherapist is and is not.

What he/she is: A person who is trained to develop a capacity for undying humanness and patience in order to be able to offer a wounded other the chance to pick up the pieces of their fragmented lives within the context of an interpersonal relationship.

What he/she is not: A person who should be expected to put up with utter incompetence and disrespectful behaviour with a smile. They are trained to be patient and understanding with their clients. Not with lying, careless staff members of an organisation who have no regard for another's time. It is unfair and unwise to expect them to have tolerance for all kinds of nonsense, just because they do so with the delicate psychological selves that their clients bring before them.

If that were the case, if psychotherapists really had to take an oath of unconditional patience and understanding, then no psychotherapist would ever participate in socio-political movements to better the state of mankind, to state one example. They would be too busy being a doormat for people to walk all over, you see.

A psychotherapist has as much as of a right as the next person does to be opinionated, or get pissed off and raise their voice against incompetent staff members, government departments, or violations in human rights. Their skill lies in remaining neutral in a certain context about certain things. To illustrate with an example, just because a therapist may vociferously condemn wife beating as an act, does not mean their capacity to offer help to a wife beater, should he seek it, will be adversely affected. In fact, it demonstrates their capacity to differentiate between something that warrants a certain judgement from them and that which does not.

Just because they are meant to be patient people, does not mean they will take every damn thing that is thrown their way lying down.

And while we are on the subject, if a psychotherapist expresses disappointment at your gross incompetence in carrying out your professional duties, don't illustrate your sheer lack of discernment by equating that with disappointments experienced within the context of a therapeutic relationship between a client and his or her therapist.

Therapists and counsellors are trained to be patient with clients because of the special nature of the relationship. It is unlike any other dyad, where one has to be mindful of the many reasons why clients may disappoint the therapist or vice versa. Many of those reasons stem directly from the vulnerabilities for which therapists are there to help.

So please, next time you call a therapists' therapeutic skills to question because they didn't pat you on the back and say "aww baby, it's okay" after you made an error that could very easily have been avoided had you paid a little more attention, think about what I have said.

And don't ever, EVER, make the mistake of comparing yourself to one of their clients after behaving in the above-mentioned manner. If you do, don't be startled when they put you in your place in no uncertain terms. You asked for it.

Good advertising

A Domino's pizza outlet takes advantage of it's proximity to La Sagrada Familia, a church in Barcelona which has been under construction since 1882 and is not expected to be completed till after 2026, to highlight it's main selling points- great pizzas and great timing.

Someone hung an earring on a lamp post

Location:

Barcelona, Spain

Venice, Italy

Nausea

There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition.

No, I am not contemplating the nothingness or thing-ness of human existence like dearly beloved Sartre above. I am sharing with you an experience that assailed me as I walked down the street with the man I love, in a city that I am trying to claim as mine. My relationship with it is similar to that of a disgruntled host who offers his home not with delight but with resignation, and an annoying relative who receives the hospitality of the former not out of desire but out of desperation. Actually, my affair with the city lies even lower on the scale of passion, because instead of disgruntlement or annoyance, there is just... is-ness. A shrug here and a shrug there. I am in it and it is around me. The city isn't pleading with me to accept it, nor am I begging to be embraced by it.

Like Sartre, while my feeling of nausea was also brought on suddenly by the appearance before me of a group of five adolescent girls who dressed, talked and walked similarly, that was merely the tipping point. The last straw, if you please, on the back of a camel already burdened by a heap of sameness.

Boredom and anxiety can be quite complementary. I can say that with confidence because I felt both these feelings come together to form the frown in my brow. This similarity of hair & skin colour, indistinguishable voices merging into each other by virtue of saying fairly indistinguishable things filled me with a sense of fatigue and anxiety as it struck me that I was swimming in a sea of homogeneity. Hmmm... fatigue? Fatigue and boredom aren't the same thing. I was bored, fatigued and anxious. Fatigued because I had been splashing about in new waters, and bored because I had momentarily stopped splashing and was just floating in a sea of homogeneity. That's it. I was floating like algae floats on water, asserting it's distinct existence, clutching to the surface for fear of drowning and being consumed by the depths below.

And anxiety? That was because I realised that my refusal to let the city in, metaphorically speaking, was because I would then have to let in all that the city contains. I have nothing against the buildings, the trees, fountains and the streets. I have a problem with those who work in the buildings who are the same as those who sit under the trees who are the same as those who look at the fountains who are the same as those who fill the streets.

I felt stifled by their sameness. Maybe it's because I come from what is known as the 'land of diversity', where walking around in a marketplace for five minutes, you cross paths with people dressed differently, saying distinctly different things, sounding different even if speaking the same language! In contrast I find the present surroundings sickeningly homogeneous. I am not making this up, seriously, but if you give a sentence or paragraph to ten different people to read out loud, the impression I have is it will sound like the same person reading it over and over again. How can so many people sound exactly alike? Similar pitch, rhythm, voice quality..... something about that disturbs me I tell you. Makes me very uneasy, this obliteration of individual uniqueness.

Such were the thoughts I was grappling with. Thoughts, and oddly enough, a viscerally felt sense of asphyxiation.

Many may think I am overreacting. But those who crave individuality and diversity will perhaps understand.

Words spoken by a classmate during my very formative journey through a Masters programme come back to haunt me. He looked at me one afternoon and said "I have worked out the essence of your existence". Curious, and prone to sarcasm, I asked him to share his insights so that I too may learn of my essence. He looked straight at me, smiled his large African smile and said "You thrive in uniqueness"

In light of recent events, I can't help but wonder if he was right.

I guess I will have to drag variety and uniqueness out from the deeper recesses into which they have been pushed, and toss them back into the world out there before I can be surprised and thrive once again.

Till then, maybe I can come up with ideas to amuse myself with this mundaneness.

Oh well! As most people around me would say "Cheers darling!"

B-)

The Religious Tolerance of the Atheist

Travelling to London one afternoon, the passenger sitting next me momentarily shelved what I had come to regard as British social etiquette, and struck up a conversation with me despite the fact that I was a total stranger. Being non-British myself, I didn't feel offended as if my private space had been invaded so all was well. Though I must admit I found it a bit strange that she seemed to want to chat despite the fact that I had my nose buried in a book. After general chit chat about what I did, where I was from, what I was going to do etc. etc., she happened to mention that she was on a course in theology, attempting to make better sense of her religion. She had converted to Catholicism recently.

During the two hour or so train journey, she and I spent about sixty or so minutes talking about religion and God, among other things such as psychological suffering, human existence, and mental illness.

Let me state at the outset that I am not a religious person. I don't practice any religion, and while I think nearly all organised religions may have something to offer as far as humanism is concerned, I think overall they have led to more division than unity, and more harm than good for humanity.

I made my religious indifference clear to her quite early in our conversation.

We spoke about God and nature, and she told me how as part of her religious journey she had learnt how to witness God in everything around us, especially the natural world. She added that some people were unable to see it that way, and wanted evidence to prove the existence of God. I calmly replied that individuals were all different and both positions were equally valid. It's just a question of the meaning you ascribe to things and events, more often than not it just boils down to the words we use to construct those meanings. Some people are moved by faith, some are not. I also added that it was hard for either to convince the other, because if one knew the language of the other there wouldn't be a problem to begin with. As an example, I pointed out that no matter how hard they tried, they might not be able to convince Richard Dawkins about God's existence all around us. People who need evidence need it before they can believe, and people who speak the language of faith need you to believe before you can see the "evidence".

The question here appears to lie on the atheism/theism vs. agnosticism question. Some may be quite happy to believe without having the knowledge, others may disbelieve in the absence of knowledge. Some others may claim to possess the knowledge, which I have to admit seems an odd position to have, but that's my personal viewpoint.

She then asked me what I thought of Richard Dawkins. She said she often felt he said what he did just for publicity. Now despite my tolerance, I don't like people being misunderstood or misrepresented, so I promptly came to Dawkins' defense and told her I didn't think he did it for publicity and he really does believe in what he writes. Or writes what he believes in. Whichever way you look at it.

We agreed that it was best to try and learn about one's religion academically, to make better sense of it and arrive at your own subjective interpretation of it, rather than blindly following what others have said. I would appreciate any effort by the religious to try and deconstruct their religion. I anticipate it will lead to shifts in their world view.

She came across as someone trying to make sense of the world through the prism of her religion, seeking external validation in the process. Far from trying to convince me of the supremacy of her religious world view, she seemed to be quite unconvinced about it herself. I remained largely non committal, making a case for subjective realities, individual choice and preference, and broadmindedness enough to have an opinion while letting others have their own opinions as well. While she nodded along in agreement, I think my non committal answers did frustrate her a little.

Fellow atheists might feel I let her off too easily. That I should have argued against her beliefs, and metaphorically put-her-in-her-place. I on the other hand feel I did quite alright to make my own position known. Why not defend your position more vociferously, some might ask. Why not try to convince the other that religion is less than ideal? That you are right and they are erring?

I don't feel the need to defend my position. I think I am right, and that suffices for me. I am definitely not aiming to convince anyone of anything. I am convinced of my position, and in discussions and exchanges of ideas with me if another were to start thinking or feeling differently, I would regard that as a natural bi-product of a conversation between open minded individuals rather than a victory for "my side" or my powers of persuasion.

In order to influence others' opinions, two conditions must be met. Firstly, you should have conviction in what you're trying to say and secondly, the other should have enough mental elasticity to accommodate your views. If these two conditions are absent, any conscious effort to try and convince another person will be an exercise in futility. On the other hand, if they are both present, I believe some transfer of ideas will naturally occur by osmosis.

While we're on the subject, I definitely don't think the way to make an impression on another person is by belittling their existing viewpoints. Try telling someone suffering from psychosis that they are wrong in believing that Iran is developing nuclear weapons with the specific aim of destroying them, for example, and watch the metaphorical distance between the two of you increase right before your eyes.

Certain types of beliefs are impervious to arguments aimed at proving them wrong. Knowledge/ignorance can be tackled by logical arguments. But what do you do when someone says "I don't know but I believe...." ? The only way to confront those beliefs is by admitting "I hear what you're saying, but this is what I believe". That's the end of it.

We have heard the words "religious tolerance" often enough. What does it mean though? Does it mean respecting all religions equally? Perhaps not. Your own choice and lifestyle make it abundantly clear that you respect one way of life more than another. That's why you choose to follow it. If I choose to practice XYZ to the exclusion of other religions, it's quite apparent that something about XYZ appeals to me more than other religions.

Atheists, it is fair to say, have little respect for any organised religion. Otherwise they wouldn't be atheists, would they?

What exactly is religious tolerance then?

It is not about respecting or supporting other religions. It is about respecting and supporting an other's freedom to choose to practice any or all of those religions. Remember Voltaire's famous quote on tolerance? No, not the one about which considerable controversy still exists, but the straightforward one from his Essay on Tolerance - "Think for yourself, and let others enjoy the privilege to do so".

I trust, or would like to trust, that atheists do believe in liberal humanism even if they scoff at the world's recognised religions. Liberal humanists, while making their views known, let others arrive at their own conclusions about the nature of things. They are broadminded enough to realise that the world is filled with different individuals, each of whom may live their lives as they choose, even with much pomp and show, and have every right to do so.

Let it be known that I also think it is annoying when someone tries to sell an idea to you despite much head-shaking and protests on your part. Religious types can come on pretty strong, I agree. But many a time it seems to me that any discussion on the subject is perceived as being an attempt to promote one's agenda rather than what it is- a mere exchange of ideas. I wish it weren't so.

Of course, for the times that they do hound you and try to win you over to "their side", maybe the above mentioned will help you ward them off by giving them gyaan (a lesson) in tolerance for individual differences and freedom of choice.

Politely saying "Thanks for the offer, but I'm all set for now" might be a better solution than having an angry war of words.