The Cart Before The Horse

I am scared of giving any kind of solemn advice. I usually don't open my mouth unless the grave problem smacks of lighter tease and only then I blabber away my Sir Attenborough–styled insights of life.

Even here in IL, the only beings I gratify with my elaborate advices are trolls. There used to be a poster called Ragini who used to warn members of trolls. I am not sure if she is still around. Oh! I love her activism to get rid of trolls. I once told her when she enjoined me not to indulge trolls that I so love trolls. Genuine people with verismo problems might take my silly advice seriously and exacerbate their problems. Trolls are cute in that they pose counter-factual and hypothetical and lurid problems and once you spot them, I wish I not only feed but also inject them with protein steroids to fatten them for their problems are unreal and I can ply them with unreal solutions. That is my kind of rumpled and fun-filled one dollar (wordy) advice.

 

Cheeniya! I have been recommended such soul-enriching books by few acquaintances. I am confounded because I don't understand this stuff.

They say, it will bring me peace and tranquility. But I need to grasp chaos and angst to appreciate peace and tranquility. They say, it will bring grant me something called 'redemption'. But I need to understand what is the bondage from which I will be redeemed. Am I a slave? Of who? Where? Come again?

What is the problem in being a human. I can eat ice cream, fish and watch TV. When I ask such questions, I am told I don't strive for an exalted bearing like some upgrade in an airline. I am happy that I don't understand such stuff and prefer to be a lowly and cheerful hypochondriac than some compressed sologram in ether of souls. I get very scared when people talk of such soul-fortifying material. I do have acquaintances who champion such soul-enriching conceits. I draw a blank stare every time they implore me to indulge in such reads. I don't think my plinky brain can comprehend any of this baroque philosophy. I get very confused not knowing what is that grouse troubling everyone that they don't enjoy being a 'human' in all its glory. Isn't it great just to be a regular and bumbling human. Why does anyone want to tamper with their soul, like a mechanic tinkering with a thingamabob shipped with no product manual, and fritz it.

 

Thank you Syamala.

oj

 

Reminds me of Gustave Flaubert who would persist in agony till he found the “right” word. When is a word or construct “right”? Arguably, a right word has a je ne sais quoi appeal to me. You know it when you have it.

I like perfection in others because that inspires me to slouch towards betterment. Self-directed perfection is miserable. It inflicts misery, but in others it leads to amusement. Recall the Flawless Painter Andrea del Sarto, also known as Andrea senza errori (“without errors”), who is immortalised in Robert Browning's eponymous poem. Andrea reflects why his paintings are not as popular as the art work of Raphael and Michelangelo though he displays a technical perfection that surpasses that of other Renaissance contemporaries. He scrubs the arm in this painting repeatedly till he achieves that artistic fulfilment called “perfection”. Then he realizes that patrons rarely admire art for its technical impeccability. They exalt art that rings in the spirit and passion of the artist. A grossly crooked arm would in fact resonate more strikingly with people as it reflects spirited motives and unrealized ambitions closer to home.

I do admire “perfection” in that it commands aesthetics but the deeper connect is with the overall premise of the work. People enjoy art or writing or music that they can relate to or want to be a part of and such works don’t entail perfection or supremacy rather smack of an evocative leap “A man's reach should exceed his grasp”, but not exterminate his grasp, a dangling desire to keep you going.

 

In the same young night, if a passing troll experiences Nilgiri ride, Charlie Chaplin, Ramesses II and Fra Lippo Lappi's spirituality, he must either be in ICU by now or skedaddled from snippets. Snippets is like that "fly" repellent to the trolls. They dare hang out here only to be whacked out of their wits in not knowing how did a horse and a cart lead to a fly and a cipher called "GGS". Such winding conversations will incapacitate any troll intending to plunder here.