I might be a healthy young lad with a pulse of 45 and low body fat but my right eye is red and I do not know why. As I lay relaxing on my bed, which constitutes most of my day nowadays, I realized that everybody is full of imperfections but more importantly every body is full of imperfections.
Why am I then wasting my time optimizing profit and make rich men richer, when I can be a route to subsiding the pain of the poor. I suddenly realized I need to start a free clinic where I can treat people who can't afford it. And that's just a start. I suddenly envisioned that I could help support other free clinics and hospitals of the sort. Imagine medical care being like primary education - free! That would also assume I'm super-rich so that I can afford to spend like that or I am earning efficiently and putting most of it back into the cause. Oh my god! I'm talking social entrepreneurship. Yes, that's what I want to do. I don't care about being rich and famous if I have an abundance of three basic things in life - food, shelter and clothing. But I do
From the time I graduated until about thirty minutes ago, my plan was to earn a huge sum of money by the time I'm thirty and retire to live on interest. Perfect life. Practice music all this while become a musician of some sort. Suddenly, everything has changed and a medical degree has been added to the scheme of things. I still plan to pursue music but an MBBS is what is attracting me now. My friend warned me a while ago and asked me not think about an MBBS because it is just too much work. I was convinced by him then but I don't think I'll be at peace if I do not follow what this whimsical heart of mine says.
In high school I opted for non-medical because I was scared of biology. Since all my friends were preparing for IIT, so did I. Life has paved the path for me and with little effort I am where I am, though I never thought I deserved it. The thought that people take me for being much smarter and deserving than I actually am, seems very true. And I am sure my life will make way without me worrying or struggling a lot for what I think must be done!
Life might not go as we plan it, but it is still our responsibility to plan it!
Why am I then wasting my time optimizing profit and make rich men richer, when I can be a route to subsiding the pain of the poor. I suddenly realized I need to start a free clinic where I can treat people who can't afford it. And that's just a start. I suddenly envisioned that I could help support other free clinics and hospitals of the sort. Imagine medical care being like primary education - free! That would also assume I'm super-rich so that I can afford to spend like that or I am earning efficiently and putting most of it back into the cause. Oh my god! I'm talking social entrepreneurship. Yes, that's what I want to do. I don't care about being rich and famous if I have an abundance of three basic things in life - food, shelter and clothing. But I do
From the time I graduated until about thirty minutes ago, my plan was to earn a huge sum of money by the time I'm thirty and retire to live on interest. Perfect life. Practice music all this while become a musician of some sort. Suddenly, everything has changed and a medical degree has been added to the scheme of things. I still plan to pursue music but an MBBS is what is attracting me now. My friend warned me a while ago and asked me not think about an MBBS because it is just too much work. I was convinced by him then but I don't think I'll be at peace if I do not follow what this whimsical heart of mine says.
In high school I opted for non-medical because I was scared of biology. Since all my friends were preparing for IIT, so did I. Life has paved the path for me and with little effort I am where I am, though I never thought I deserved it. The thought that people take me for being much smarter and deserving than I actually am, seems very true. And I am sure my life will make way without me worrying or struggling a lot for what I think must be done!
Life might not go as we plan it, but it is still our responsibility to plan it!
Pants or jeans are better then people and one day, occurred a horrific event which I have still not been able to digest completely.
I sat blithely facing my PC when I remembered them; I remembered my pants(jeans), the soft, blue, faded, comfort giving and finger-hole-spangled pair of jeans that I'd been awaiting for the past few days. I hoped I would see it some day folded up cleanly in my almirah, back from the laundry.But that auspicious moment had not yet arrived so I decided to discover the truth behind the situation amiss. So I decided to enquire about the situation and went straight to mom, for she handles this department.
Unaware of the fate, I asked her about the jeans and she refused to tell me where they were. When I demanded the reason it was told to me that the jeans had a finger-hole at a location not considered respectable (the crotch obviously) and they were not fit enough for me to wear. All this reasoning was alien to me and I insisted that the pair of jeans be handed over. But alas, she was the mom, the home minister, the caretaker, the winner. She always had a jaundiced eye for that smooth, soft, pretty piece of cloth because it was the victim of a cute little decent hole (at the knee).
But I wasn't one of those who give up so easily. I harped and carped until the pair was finally brought into our presence from the nether regions it had been deposited in, ready to be given away to the underprivileged.
"Oh this! Only this!", I said looking at the crotch-hole. And then with a smile of relief I uttered,
"This can be stitched without any effort!", for the she knew the magic tailor. The magic tale of the magic tailor is pretty interesting. This guy is so talented he can make irreparably out-of-proportion clothes as perfectly fitting as an underwear. He can stitch huge holes without a trace, he can transform clothes to different sizes so that I can wear my father's shirts and what not. Anyway, back to the story.
"Sorry son. That's not possible. This cannot be stitched. ", and I knew her ulterior motives behind saying that.
"Oh no please! I know it can be", I begged
"Mani, you're not going to wear jeans with holes"
"I like these jeans!", I complained
But she was mercilessly indifferent to my imploring.
"If you wear these again, I'll tear it", she threatened me and slid her finger through the crotch hole of those lovely jeans she hand in her hands showing me the latent power she possessed.
That was it. I was in love with the jeans and my mother did not let me wear them. I was furious! I snatched the pair of dead cloth out of her hand, and with one fierce movement of my hand it rent apart. It felt like suicide and I walked away with a grimace.
Real love is what describes our relation. Such a beautiful piece of cloth; immensely tender and caring. And I tore them with my own hands. I wanted to cry but could not. If you're wondering why I was so caught on up a simple pair of jeans then let me tell you, it takes me months of perseverance and tolerance to endure a new piece of cloth for a long time until it is rendered comfortable enough to be wore. I am then devoid of any misgivings about its behavior throughout the day and I starting love that cloth. And look at fate, just when everything became perfect we were sundered apart!
Inanimate objects elicit love much more easily than people, because they are so predictable, so helpful and selectable. Their inanimateness is their virtue. Take for example a book, one could love a book. You have the fullest opportunity of being yourself, of being off your guard while with a book. Like a lamp, a lamp is lovable. It'll give us light, beautiful peaceful yellow light and demands only a predictable about of power, a nominal amount I say. People are fickle. Don't put the PC in the inanimate category because this devilish piece of plastic and metal is the machinofication of fickleness. Pants are better than people and I lost one.
p.s. this post has no deeper meaning / reference to any other event in my life. It is what it seems to be. (This post occurred in chapaat v2.0 too)
I sat blithely facing my PC when I remembered them; I remembered my pants(jeans), the soft, blue, faded, comfort giving and finger-hole-spangled pair of jeans that I'd been awaiting for the past few days. I hoped I would see it some day folded up cleanly in my almirah, back from the laundry.But that auspicious moment had not yet arrived so I decided to discover the truth behind the situation amiss. So I decided to enquire about the situation and went straight to mom, for she handles this department.
Unaware of the fate, I asked her about the jeans and she refused to tell me where they were. When I demanded the reason it was told to me that the jeans had a finger-hole at a location not considered respectable (the crotch obviously) and they were not fit enough for me to wear. All this reasoning was alien to me and I insisted that the pair of jeans be handed over. But alas, she was the mom, the home minister, the caretaker, the winner. She always had a jaundiced eye for that smooth, soft, pretty piece of cloth because it was the victim of a cute little decent hole (at the knee).
But I wasn't one of those who give up so easily. I harped and carped until the pair was finally brought into our presence from the nether regions it had been deposited in, ready to be given away to the underprivileged.
"Oh this! Only this!", I said looking at the crotch-hole. And then with a smile of relief I uttered,
"This can be stitched without any effort!", for the she knew the magic tailor. The magic tale of the magic tailor is pretty interesting. This guy is so talented he can make irreparably out-of-proportion clothes as perfectly fitting as an underwear. He can stitch huge holes without a trace, he can transform clothes to different sizes so that I can wear my father's shirts and what not. Anyway, back to the story.
"Sorry son. That's not possible. This cannot be stitched. ", and I knew her ulterior motives behind saying that.
"Oh no please! I know it can be", I begged
"Mani, you're not going to wear jeans with holes"
"I like these jeans!", I complained
But she was mercilessly indifferent to my imploring.
"If you wear these again, I'll tear it", she threatened me and slid her finger through the crotch hole of those lovely jeans she hand in her hands showing me the latent power she possessed.
That was it. I was in love with the jeans and my mother did not let me wear them. I was furious! I snatched the pair of dead cloth out of her hand, and with one fierce movement of my hand it rent apart. It felt like suicide and I walked away with a grimace.
Real love is what describes our relation. Such a beautiful piece of cloth; immensely tender and caring. And I tore them with my own hands. I wanted to cry but could not. If you're wondering why I was so caught on up a simple pair of jeans then let me tell you, it takes me months of perseverance and tolerance to endure a new piece of cloth for a long time until it is rendered comfortable enough to be wore. I am then devoid of any misgivings about its behavior throughout the day and I starting love that cloth. And look at fate, just when everything became perfect we were sundered apart!
Inanimate objects elicit love much more easily than people, because they are so predictable, so helpful and selectable. Their inanimateness is their virtue. Take for example a book, one could love a book. You have the fullest opportunity of being yourself, of being off your guard while with a book. Like a lamp, a lamp is lovable. It'll give us light, beautiful peaceful yellow light and demands only a predictable about of power, a nominal amount I say. People are fickle. Don't put the PC in the inanimate category because this devilish piece of plastic and metal is the machinofication of fickleness. Pants are better than people and I lost one.
p.s. this post has no deeper meaning / reference to any other event in my life. It is what it seems to be. (This post occurred in chapaat v2.0 too)
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