Another Big White Canvas - Everyday Philosophy 3

source:- https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-board-on-wall-near-plant-6373663/

 

Can you imagine a brand new shiny white canvas?

You receive that neatly packed into a thin layer of bubble wrap, with a corrugated layer all around it. When you open it cautiously with your bare hands, you find it spotless. Not even a single speck of dust is visible on its shiny surface.

The canvas - a rectangular white surface where you can portray whatever you imagine. You can make the moist and deep eyes of a beautiful woman. You can make big mountains and an ever-flowing waterfall. Or you might spill some colors on the canvas, according to your personal feelings, and display it as modern art (No offense though). That's completely your personal choice, isn't it? After all, it belongs to you, my dear reader friend.

You have all the liberty to do whatever you want to do with it - No questions asked (Also when it comes to your creativity, no questions should be answered .)

Now imagine, you are voluntarily keeping your shiny white canvas on display right in the middle of the street.

People are coming and going, watching your shiny white canvas with utter awe.  

And then this man of culture comes and writes 'LIFE SUCKS' with his bold marker pen and leaves in a hurry. Now everybody is watching that thing written on your big white, not so shiny any more canvas right in the middle of the street.

After a while, this elderly lady crosses the street to cut the last word written over there and replace it with the word 'Beautiful'.

So an edited 'Life is beautiful'  remained there when this young guy came and wrote the name and phone number of a girl, who might have rejected her proposal, in his petite and clumsy handwriting in the rightmost corner of the canvas.

In a while, some graffiti artists come and write some catchy slogans, with the intention to showcase the reality of our cruel society. They spray-painted the background, making sure nothing is visible which was written before.

Another gentleman thought that those slogans are specifically hurting the sentiments of a 'particular' section of society. So he spilled some grease to hide those slogans.

When you return after an hour or so to pick up your canvas back, you see that it went through big trauma because of some Societal Exposure. Your shiny white canvas is now turned into some big mess.

And, just to boost your frustration levels, this lady walks right in front of you, spills some of her leftover Latte on your canvas, and throws the paper cup in the bin.

You are standing right in the middle of the street, trying to figure out some ways to clean it up - so that you can get some space to portray what's actually imbibed in you. 

That shiny white canvas is just a metaphor I used to describe our Monkey mind (oops! I used another metaphor) With all those different elements present in society, your mind is conditioned in such a way that it is next to impossible to 'Undo it'. It is conditioned in such a way that it's a monstrous task to create some space to express what's actually imbibed in you.

So many beliefs

So many philosophies

So many opinions

So much filth

With all that how can you even think of even understanding what's actually there that you truly need to express?

It happens so often that we portray something beautiful and it turns out to be a copy of some other 'trending' portrait, which people have made us believe that it's beautiful.

Please take a moment and think that how you actually felt when you see your canvas filled with so much unrequited filth?

Disgusting, right?

Let me ask you one simple question, my dear reader friend.

Why you kept your canvas right in the middle of the street?

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R. Nagpal

PS- If you enjoy reading this, you can read another of my Everyday Philosophy here.

One Rickety Tea Stall On a Rainy Day

Image Source - Quora

Just a little request. Please make sure you don't have a kind of stress on your temple, or your tongue clings to the top of your mouth. Just relax them so that you can enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing this. And yes, don't forget to take a bellyful breath before you start. I promise I won't disturb you again. Happy reading :-) 

It just started raining and I ran to this rickety tea stall, with an age-old tin roof. If we talk about metro cities, little tea stalls like those are on the verge of becoming extinct. The month of March brought lots of uninvited rainfall this year. I was in no mood to get drenched, so I grabbed a plastic stool, neatly placed near one broken plastic table. Its leg was broken. A plastic rope was clumsily used to temporarily fix that. 

I was not planning to have tea at that moment. I completely blame the weather. So I ordered one tea. The tea seller's daughter, who must have been ten-year-old, smiled and gladly nodded her head.

The shop couldn't accommodate more than five people at once. Most people come here to grab a packet of potato chips or pan masala, whose lengthy strings are tied on a rope near the wooden cot on which the girl was sitting. They don't come inside. They are too occupied to sit patiently and enjoy a cup of hot and milky tea.

The little girl hummed a song while shaking a saddle in that big tea urn. The tea was filled up to its brim. She turned the gas on low flame again, as she served me tea in a paper cup. I smiled at her. I smiled probably for the first time in the whole day. She smiled back and handed me a giant cookie, selected with the utmost care from her big, transparent martabaan (jar).

The tea was hotter than I had imagined. I kept it on the table for a while and started looking outside the tea stall.

The rain was thunderous. But its droplets were heavy and merciful - refreshing the face of the Earth. The tremendous speed with which it was falling, was creating multiple ripples in the puddle near the tea stall.

I was thinking nothing for a while, just watching those ripples. There were no thoughts disturbing me - of the present and the future. 

I closed my eyes for a while. The only sound I could hear was the droplets falling on the tin roof. It was soothing - relaxing my tied-up mental knots.

I opened my eyes and saw this little brown pup running and trying to find some dry hiding space until it stopped pouring. I clapped my hands to grab his attention. I just wished to say that Hey little one! There's this tea stall where hardly anyone comes. He might have understood that. He quickly came, smelled my shoes, and curled up near them. I offered him half of my cookie. He gladly ate it. I asked for a few more cookies. I had company now.

I held the paper cup in my palms and took the first sip. It was perfect for me - just the way I enjoy it - Less sugar. Less milk. Patiently boiled. 

I was enjoying my tea when another little girl entered the tea stall. She was clenching a little plastic rucksack against her chest. She was a bit drenched. Her hair looked more decorated with white pearls rather than droplets of water.  She greeted the other little girl and her Father with a gentle smile and a nod. She opened her rucksack carefully and took out bundles of envelopes, made with newspaper - each bundle neatly bound with thin jute rope. She or one of her family members might have made them with old newspapers with their bare hands. 

The tea seller chose two bundles of different sizes - One for those giant cookies and the other for those salty snacks displayed in different martabaans. He handed over a couple of ten rupee notes, which she quickly wrapped up in a little plastic, making sure it doesn't drench. 

"Would you like to have some tea?" I asked her. She smiled, sheepishly nodded and gladly accepted. I ordered two more cups of tea. I was ready for round two. She cupped hot tea in her palms and said nothing.

A rickety tea stall in a big city is nothing but a parallel world in itself. You enter there and everything just slows down. If you sit there for a while you'll feel a sense of calmness, a peace for which you were looking. Life is so fast-paced. There are competition, fear, and insecurities about so many things out there. If you don't take time out for yourself, you will become a mechanical man or woman. So for the sake of your and your loved one's sanity, please take out some time for yourself.  Meditate, write your thoughts, or visit a little tea stall. 

I personally recommend visiting a little tea stall  - who knows you might not find one in a couple of years. 

God Forbid!

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R. Nagpal

A Little Shade of White on a Big Black Canvas - Everyday Philosophy - 2

 Rohit is a little boy who works in a tea shop near my office. If you have heard the term Street Smart, He is Street Smart Personified. He doesn't know how to type, so he uses the voice input function on my cellphone to search for videos on YouTube. He barely went to school. His only education is visiting various offices and factories in the area, meeting people, calculating bills, and seeing things happening around him. 

One day he came to my office. He wasn't in that cheerful mood, which was indeed his greatest quality. I asked him the reason behind it when a tear rolled down his cheek. He said that his employer slapped him as he forgot to add cardamom to a customer's tea, who especially demands it. I was angry at the owner of the shop. As a person, I have always condemned that kind of behavior. Anything that questions one's self-respect should not be allowed to enter one's life.

"Don't you feel like giving him back? You are strong enough." I asked him.

"No Bhaiya, he is a poor man himself. He'll definitely lose customers if I commit these kinds of mistakes frequently. And if I slap him back, what difference will remain between him and me? I'll improve myself instead of hitting him."

Those were the words of that thirteen-year-old boy.

I have read countless books on philosophy, spirituality, and religion. But none of them hit my psyche so hard. That boy, who barely went to school, taught me a great thing that I need to think about, absorb properly, and follow religiously.

Every day I see or listen to things that break my heart and shatter my soul.

The pandemic, which became life-threatening a couple of years back, brought forward the reality of many people around us. I have seen people with humble backgrounds selling their souls for some cash. People were hoarding things that were considered darn necessary at that time. They didn't even think that doing these things will lead to someone's death.

When I see all these things or when I listen to all these things, I come to a simple conclusion- This world is a big canvas, which turned black in color because of our ill-doings. It used to be shiny white once upon a time. With time, after passing various shades of grey, we have turned its color into black.

But if you observe that big black canvas for a little while, you'll notice some little specks of white in one corner or the other. Though it is as small as your strand of hair, the good thing is - It's there. No one notices that little Whiteness. So today, let's put some light on what's white.

You just put your head up from whatever you are doing, and you'll see hatred all around, without even looking for it. You have to look for love, but hatred will come looking for you. This hatred spreads in the form of a chain - link by link.  So the people who are not acting as a link in the formation of that chain are that little speck of white on that big black canvas.

Let me try to clarify this.

Ragging is something we listen about in our day-to-day life. People who go through that kind of trauma, think that when they will be promoted to the next year, they will be on the other side and will find some unique and creative way to conduct ragging on their juniors.

But then comes one or two who have a different mindset.

They think that whatever happened to them should be stopped there and then. They act as link breakers. Instead of holding personal grudges, they break that negative link which forms a disastrous chain

Or those mothers-in-law who were tortured and ill-treated by their in-laws in their younger days. She, instead of treating their daughters-in-law the same way, takes a stand for them in various situations - acting as their strong support system.

People with this link-breaker mentality are the minute specks of white on a big black canvas. And this little piece is written with the hope that soon these little white specks turn most of the canvas white.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

ps- If you like reading this, please click here to read the first article in my series of Everyday Philosophy.

Clumsy Handwriting And Other Sins...

Like a big, fat book, one's life is divided into various chapters. Things might look slow, clumsy, and hard on day to day basis. But if you sit down one day, clear the specks of dust from your mental lens, and look back - You can divide your days into various periods - more like an episodal web series.

Some of you might divide them into school days or college days, Initial employment days, or the typical ' Working in this organization sucks' days. Maybe Infatuation days and major crush days. Dating days and Break-up days. Some of you might be too busy to sit like me doing nothing but thinking about the past. So, you might have divided it into typical good days and bad days.

Nothing wrong with that.

And then there are some rare species (ahem! Guess who belongs to that species?) who have all the time to go as narrow as possible - Categorising each and everything which they could think of. And then categorizing them into other categories. For them each and every detail is important. They like their chapters short and readable - No matter how thick the book will be

No point for guessing, I'm one of them (If by chance, you missed my brackets hint).

To explain a bit about the brain of this rare species - For you, it might be 'just' school days. For them, it is:-

- The way I cried when my parents forcefully sent me to school.

- The last guy entered before the main gut closed.

- The one who slept in history class.

- No more stupid pencils - get me the pen.

and the list of chapters can go on and on.

In everyone's life, there comes a phase when one can literally throw away those 'wildly' chewed-from-the-back pencils and replace them with sleek and elegant pens. That's actually a remarkable change as now you can fill your notebooks all black and blue (ahem! literally again). 

Remember - questions in black ink and answers in blue.

That's actually a superpower. All of a sudden, you feel that whatever you are going to write will not be much transitory now - It will be carrying some amount of permanency with it.

This phase also carries an opportunity with it - an opportunity to forge a personality where you can 'Choose' to write neatly. An opportunity to commit fewer mistakes. An opportunity to behave like a person who has a 'way' with pens.

You know what, these all are quite foolish opportunities. It's like a fish not only climbing a tree but also singing an opera from above.

I had clumsy handwriting. No one taught me to write clumsy - I was born with that talent. My brain always worked hard to guide my hand to fit as many words as possible in as less space. And to cope with dictating speed of the teacher, I never felt any issue with skipping a few words. I believed in writing the first letter of the word and making an impression afterward. And after class, I used to sit with a group of friends to guess what actually was my intent to write there. Can you imagine a group of historians, looking interestingly at the Harrapan script, trying to write a new book on the Aryan Invasion Theory?

I was born in an era (I consciously used the word era) where people used to think that one's handwriting is so damn directly proportional to one's intelligence. And My dear Father was most concerned with the neatness of my handwriting 'oblique' level of my intelligence. So he enrolled me in this handwriting improvement class. Point to be noted - I was in the tenth standard when he took this revolutionary step. And the average age of the students who were taking that course was eleven (ahem! If you count me in).

They started with the clarity and formation of the alphabet - trying to modify my outstanding handwriting into a predefined 'greeting card' style. It was fun actually making the letter "A" like two wooden ladders balanced against each other and fancy ribbon tied between them. And the letter "B"  was like that standard sketch I used to make, in which two hills with a waterfall kind of thing were there in between. You just have to see that sketch in portrait mode. 

I finally gained that superpower of showcasing my classy handwriting - and that too with a lightning speed of forty minutes...

a quarter of a page of an exercise notebook.

Don't forget that they assured me that with regular practice, I'll be able to cope. But after trying and trying, I understood that every power requires a certain amount of compromises. I have to choose between beauty and the beast (oops! speed). I chose the beast. And in a couple of weeks, I was back with my scribble and scratches. 

But my Father was not ready to spare me so easily.

He made me repeat that whole program in the twelfth standard. 

Imagine a five-foot-nine guy, weighing hundred and forty pounds (you can't ignore my sixteen-inch arms, can you ?), surrounded by a few irritating ten-year-old kids, fighting to grab the first desk. And yes, I learned cursive writing there. 

And the teacher had to deal with the class in a different way.

- I'll make you sit with a girl

- Finger on your lips

- write ' I will not talk in the class' in your diary a hundred times.

I remember once I was writing an essay in my recalled superpower when I forgot to put a couple of dots above the Seducing 'I' and the gentle 'J'.

'Himanshu, next time if you forget this I'll give you a tight slap. I didn't know how to react, so obviously... I couldn't control my laughter. 

To my amazement, she started laughing too.

That was my last day in that kiddy class. 

Now here I'm where people believe in typing and chatting. But I still do most of my writing on paper with a fountain pen or a pilot pen majorly. People do rely on e-mails, but I still send letters to a couple of my acquaintances.

And my handwriting is much tidy and clear.

I learned a very important lesson as I grew up. Handwriting is a medium to express your soul. It is much clear when your thoughts flow like a fresh stream of water.

I recently read an article in a magazine that you can't actually improve your handwriting. No matter how hard you try, you can't hide what's imbibed in you for a long time. Also, your handwriting is very much dependent on your mental state and speed. Most of the time, your hand fails to cope with your mental speed.  Result - everyone says - 'Can you read yourself what you have written?'.

I tried to explain this to my Father. He just smiled. 

I don't know whether my mental speed is reduced or my hand is now capable to tame the monster in my head, but my handwriting is improved. At least I believe this.

Do you want to see it? send me your address and wait for a letter exclusively for you. Let me pray to the Gods of wit and humor to bestow his blessings on my head so that I can write something interesting for you with my bare hands. 

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

PS:- Handwriting is not related to one's level of intellect. Okay, Bye! 

PSS:- I'm looking for a suitable name for that 'species'. Suggestions are more than welcome. (I have a name in my mind let's call them/me Homo - Clumsiarian, what do you suggest?).

The Floating Orange Leaf

 

Whenever I visit a place that is a bit spared from the cruelty of mankind, my first expression towards that place is a silent prayer. The Almighty has touched each and everything with his or her bare hands while creating it. But with all those nuisances in the world, those hand impressions have become invisible or untraceable. And then there are certain places where you can find those impressions if you genuinely try to find them. I sat on the banks of the Kosi river in Jim Corbet. There was no human in sight. I could see as well as hear the smooth flow of water. It was majestic to see the view with my eyes wide open as well as to hear the various sounds with my eyes closed. A lot of thoughts were entering my mind, but to my amazement, they were settling themselves without much of a problem. It was indeed a blissful state. I was just gazing at the water flowing. looking at the leaves of different shapes, sizes, and colours flowing freely, floating freely. My thoughts were stuck on an orange leaf, which greeted me near my feet, which were soaked in water. After a gentle greeting, it went away with the flow of the river. I tried hard to track its movement. I couldn't find it after a while. 

That is how every one of us is floating in the fresh stream of life. No matter how hard we try to stay holding some rock or make our permanent residence on the bank, the flow pushes us gently. It is good to trust the flow and leave ourselves freely...

Just like that orange little leave that came to greet me...

PS:- I tried to capture some of my thoughts in a video - Here's that raw, unscripted video, If you wish to see it.