Another "what's happening" post
Imagine writing down your innermost thoughts each day just as you would in a journal or a diary, several paragraphs or sometimes just a line or two that sums up what is going on in your mind; about your family, your neighborhood, your own little corner of the world.
That's exactly what I want to do. But I doubt I have the courage. Or the valiance.
The assumption is that no one reads your online diary.
The reality is that everyone reads it.
Everyone. Including your boss, your colleague, your parents, your friends, your family, your distant cousin who lives in a remote corner of Australia. Everyone. Even an elite class of strangers and weirdos frequent your diary every once in a while.
While at home, I can't talk about work because then people at work won't be interested in what you have to say. While at work, you can't write about home, because then people at home won't be interested in what you have to say. While at school, you can't talk about religion, because God won't be interested in what you have to say.
But while you're in Heaven, you can talk about anything and everything.
Because when you're dead, everyone will be interested in what you have to say.
Belated April Fools
I used to have one friend from Dubai who could never remember when April Fools was celebrated. He once came to us sometime near Christmas, played his prank, and called "April Fools!" when he was somewhat satisfied that we had been cleverly duped. Sometimes, we found ourselves having to fake it just to get him off it. And every time he did this, there would be one patient gem among us who would explain to him that April Fools was supposed to be called only in April, and only on the first day of the month, and never on other days, because then the fun was gone. He would then sit tight for a moment, ponder rather deeply for a moment or two, and come back to us yelling "Belated April Fools!" I got ya now! I tried to teach him a lesson several times by wishing him happy birthday sometime late in October or November when his birthday was actually in January.
But what aches the most is when the prankster in question plays the trick and forgets to call "April Fools" just in time.
Levels of Happiness
Hi! My name is Rajesh and I am an ant. Not the pretty spotted white ant you see stealing sugar candies out of their jars, just a regular one with regular eyesight and regular hair and regular everything. No, I don't have my shirt tucked in. And no, I don't live in a pant. My favorite meals are dissected cockroaches and in the rare occasion, putrid grasshoppers. My only occupation is to look for food and my hobbies stretch an entire gamut ranging from sniffing to burping to belching to laying on my back to enjoying the sun.
Today, I wanted to engage in some first-hand intellectual work. So I decided to pen down the various levels of happiness an ant could possibly witness.
- To be glad
- To be happy
- To be elated
- To be excited, and finally
- To be euphoric
The scale is logarithmic for all intents and purposes. So the difference between being happy and glad is ten-fold, and so is the difference between being elated and excited.
But that's not the end of the story. You're right — I am now on the bleeding edge of my own scale. The tremors caused by my happiness today have been measured to be precisely 5.2 on the above Richter scale.
Simply put, I am happy because I made someone else happy.
Height is elegance
"To be tall is to be elegant," said our Indian forefathers (albeit not in English). It is to this intellectually inspiring aphorism that I dedicate today's entry.
He was only 5 feet 3 inches tall. When people asked him for his height, he would jokingly say "5 feet 3 inches short." People who didn't know him would laugh at his height. Some called him a dwarf gone bad. Others ridiculed him as a wanabee midget. He never really did care about those comments. But I knew it hurt him on the inside. And hurt it did.
One fine morning, I was astounded to hear he was the chief executive officer for a well known marketing company. People who knew him well called him a "tall fellow". Others stated it more subtly: "a fellow of tall order." I was puzzled. Tall? He? How?
I looked up his educational qualifications. I looked up his scholastic successes. I looked up his achievements. I looked up his marketing prowess in the business domain. I looked up his presentations. I looked up how well his family lived. I looked up how he treated his employees. I looked up his charitable personality. I looked up his intellectual superiority. I looked up his honesty, his civility, his respect for people both younger and older, his dedication, his admirable attitude. I looked up every single thing about him.
It was then when I realized, that at five feet three inches tall, he truly could stand on the shoulders of giants.
August is the month
August, ever since a Mrs. D'Souza taught me the months of the year way back in Grade 1, has been my favorite month of the year. And that's definitely not for unaccountable reasons. In fact, if you dropped a just born baby girl in my arms and asked me to name her, you'd hear me muttering something that sounded strikingly like the eight month of the year.
But then, we all have our favorite months, don't we? It's not so much that you like the name of the month or the way the month sounds when it's pronounced, but more because of the kind of things you do and the variety of people you meet during the course of that month. If you happen to take a well-deserved vacation each year during the month of say, September for 8 consecutive years, I wouldn't be surprised if you said September was your favorite month. If you had a loving granddaughter who'd come to your place for her holidays each Christmas, December would naturally become your most sought month. But I have an added advantage when it comes to August. The word August itself is so melodious that is gives you a sense of satisfaction just by singing it out loud. Try doing it yourself. Right now. Prolong it for a good ten seconds. And soon enough, you aren't far away from a happiness unfelt.
I tried to recollect the various things I've engaged in over the last couple years during this wondrous month that is August. It's a long list, really. Keeping myself busy has always been my most treasured pastime, and in the seventeen months of August I've gone through, every event, every activity, and every happening has always stood testament to the fact (not that I remember all of them). If I did want to tell you a few things I've done, I'd mention only the irrelevant things. Just so you don't drop dead of jealously. Irrelevant things like Biology provincials, French final exams and frenzied packing preparing for emigration.
This year, however, is an exception. I see a dull, boring August coming up. My journal entry at the end of the month is going to be a short disappointment, no more than two lines, both of which will be incomplete fragments.
If you can help me add a little spice to this month, I will be most thankful. Anything totally wacky is fine by me.
