Our Images and Us

Images have always played a pivotal role in our human lives. Our minds seem to constantly gather, analyze, modify, classify and deduce from images. Interestingly, all other forms of inputs that we accrue through the other senses as well, get translated into images before they are worked upon by the mind. Be it smell, taste, sound or touch … there always is a picture that we naturally associate with it. When I eat something that has a unique flavor, which I unconsciously label as an input worth recording for future reference, I either associate with that taste, images of the place where the food was consumed or … an image of the food itself as I dipped my fork/spoon into it. These images then form an encoding for the taste which can later be brought up for referrals, with little effort. So too it is with sound. I can't quite remember, ever listening to music without picturing something in my mind's eye. As I listen to a song, the music dictates the kind of imagery that is formed in my mind's screen, which then helps to encode this song in my mind. Needless to say, touch brings about far more powerful forms of imagery.

On the whole, any event, with all its different types of inputs; sights, sounds, tastes, smells and feelings are apparently encoded in the form of images. This is often the reason why when we try to recollect a music once heard or a sense of touch once felt, we always bring back with that recollection, the entire event or scene (inclusive of all other sense inputs). The most interesting part is when we begin to manipulate these images in our mind to form deductions. We often play around with these images, trying perpetually to discern patterns in them. And these patterns then go to make filters (our pre conceived notions, perceptions, etc) which affect how we accept and process and label future inputs. This process is best observed in growing children. In little toddlers, we see the sense of amazement or complete indiscriminate absorption of signals/inputs. However, when the same kid grows up, deducing and working with self discovered patterns, the kid begins to:

• Ignore some of the input.
• Label some of them with minimal analysis.
• Would be "startled" by an input when it goes against a formed pattern.

Humans in general, find it very hard to keep the influences of patterns at bay. Everything we ever do is in consonance with well defined patterns. This is apparent in our lifestyles, our civilizations, our wants … everything. The left brain classifies patterns, while the right deduces newer patterns. How we come to balance these two activities decides the kind of personality that we make of ourselves. More people tend towards being more left brained, in the sense that they predominantly choose to classify new input images based on previous classifications and deduced patterns; and look lesser for new patterns that may arise. There is a very thin line dividing our rationale in choosing to look for new patterns instead of going in for classification i.e. being so called open and receptive instead of being judgemental!

Gods be blamed! If you're wondering whats got into me, well it is this damn book that I am reading, turning me into a zyborg or something of that sort! I am trying to allow myself to generously dip into the pool of experiences that this book has in offering, while still trying to hold on to my sanity. Well … heck! Either way I am crazy J.

Bingo! The Coffee Table's First Crown

If there is one thing that I so damn good at, it would be slipping into non-existance and cribbing about it. Ever so often, I get excited with some new found, fun filled change in the droning monotony of my life. But then, even before I realise, I would be fast letting things settle down with those powdery cobwebs over hanging.

It is indeed an oxymoronic and highly ironic paradox (Ahh … it feels a bit reliving after using some stupid bombastic word.) On one hand, I want to lead a very settled life, with every day, every hour planed neatly and lived most appropriately. So that I can get to bed at night, flash through the day's happenings and feel warm and smug. And on the other hand, I want every moment of my life to be a thrilling surprise faced with all the childish elements of splendid anticipation, little agonies and wizening mishaps. I can then hold the memory of every moment like a post card picture out of my shoe box and reflect on all the fun that filled that second.

Perhaps, I am not alone. Somehow I have this feeling that many suffer from the same disorder. Whatever! So … Here I am after a short indulgence with an orderly life, hoping to spin it out of control like a tossed pebble over the pool. For many, blogging has been a means of recording the event in their filmy lives. Sadly, they compare it to diary keeping. Tipping the scales right over, I think of blogging as kinks of excitement in an otherwise very surreal and normal life that I lead. Guess that explains why I am unable to do this very periodically. Boy! Does this give me the kicks! And so, when ever I'm most desperately looking to dash my head into a wall of thrill, I turn to blogging!

Now that I have amply excused myself with utterly contorted reasons, let me get to buissness. Oh!... what a dog I am. A few weeks back there was this very sweet person, Manoj, who so graciously chose to crown my corner coffee table with its first blogging award, so rightly termed "The Freedom and Independent award". Thanks for that Manoj. Wish I learn from you to be more earnest in blogging. And oh!... you have an amazing blog, lots of insightful thoughts and interesting outlooks. The good souled angle that I am, I am impelled by my divine insticts to spread joy and glory all arround. So, with that said, here are a list of buddies and fav blogs to whom I humbly pass on the baton of "The Freedom and Independent award". Cheers buddies ... have always loved reading your bloggings.

With Love to:

1. Puppy's rewind button - Though he writes his posts sitting next to his wife ... it makes you feel as if she writes half of it. I kinda like the holiday accounts and most of all the sweet recounts of all the great-to-remember foolish things that he does to make his simple life all the more interesting.
2. Arv's wall - Here is some one I can hardly belive I knew before he started blogging! He's so prompt and perhaps the Elvis Presley of the blogging kingdom. With an empire of fans and friends Arv has a world of his own, for the simple reason he provides the most honest window to a dude's life!
3. Bridget Jones reincarnate - I often wonder while reading her post whether I am talking to a long time friend in person. Her words are so lively and above all she is gifted with a style that would leave Ms.Carrie Bradshaw of Sex and The City gasping for her damn breath.

Cheers everyone ... There are more people I would love to give this award to. But I am holding back on my temptation. Hope to read more and more interesting stuff of all you people's blogs.

Perfume - The Story Of A Murderer

Beauty is a very powerful force. It drives men and women to heights and feats far above their normal fill of dexterity. It fills the human spirit like a burgeoning balloon, lifting it up into the vast blue evanescent skies. Perhaps so it is to be. And for this reason is it termed God! Truth, Beauty and Bliss, the ancient scriptures intone in their gloriously pristine voices. For at the heart of all creation there is a beauty so cruel yet so divine, that had tempted the very source of beauty into this magnificent ever flourishing swirl of creation ... rushing on its speeding heels to absolute death, like the storm dashing to taste its stilling death at the bosom of the towering mountains of the north. But till the time so chooses to come to pass, the havoc of beauty will rule over all our lives. The dying embers that may be left behind glowing their last fading smiles may be good ... and sometimes ... may not be.

Often when confronted with such an empowering force, beauty, I used to wonder what is wrong in worshiping her, for she is the very heart of her creator. We do posses the answers to some of the deepest questions that we find looming over our lives. And all that it takes to bring those answers to light would be an outwardly inconsequential event. It might be a line we read in a book or a word spoken by someone or a note of music that we chance hear ... anything. For me, today, it was a movie. I would never recommend this movie to people whom I love, for I care for them. But I would beg of those in whom I see a light, to savor this film, for I care for them ... too. It is a story of a gifted soul... a soul who is the drunken slave of beauty ... the beauty of smell. So magnetized he is by the enchantment of perfumes... that he fails to honor the true consort of beauty, truth. A movie, that highlight in mystical light that when beauty abandons truth, the bliss there from is but in vanity and would soon fade like a mocking perfume, whose laughter would echo in the blinded darkness of hollow acts.

Watch this movie at your own peril.

Perfume - The Story Of A Murderer

Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Insane Galaxy

After a pretty long unexplained hiatus it feels good to be back. There are times in our lives that are so intense that we choose to snap all links and switch off from the rest of the world, with just the bare minimum left in place. Well ... it is more like an assumed hibernation, waiting for that damn blizzard or winter to die down or wear itself out, melt away or thaw. Gosh! I feel bad to turn this post into a spiritually introspective soliloquy. Hmmm.... well out of the blue I chose to fly against the sane flock, migrating to a colder place as winter sets in, I decided to move to the UK. I simply had to yield to that incessant, pressing, itching, bursting thrust in me. Got my visa, quit my decent job, left my loving family, flew out of my dearest motherland, and landed as a unemployed vagabond in the city of London, greeted by darkening clouds and peppering rain.

For over a month and a little more, I went blip! Missing from the radars of friends and relatives alike. Normally I am not a person of impulses or the esoteric tantric largely bonded towards unexplained mysteries. But this time, abandoning all reason and sound logic, I heeded to some kind of instinctive sixth sense urging. The past 2 months have been extremely intense, spiritually cleansing and sensibly the most needed jerk to get me back into the shoes of an eternal hitch hiker ever willing to explore newer territories, fortes and pastures. But as most changes or jerks it has not been an easy one! Nevertheless, it was worth it. It has left me richer in character and more sound and complete as a person. Well ... to cut the long story short (every story that I ever write is so damn long!)...here I am once again with renewed energy and buoying with a spirit of adventure, in a new land, with a new job, amidst new people. Hmmm.... I wanted to write more ... but Hell! My lessons are mine and I don’t want to sound like a withering Mosses coming down Mt. Sinai to discourse on the stone tables in his hand. So, from Namma Chennai to the city of bloody rain, London.

A Refreshing Dip in the Flowery Drum

Sunny Sunday afternoons would normally see us feed like disdainful sophisticated creatures of elegant art at a rather sumptuous lunch at home; and then dash into the darkened A/C’ed room to fall flat like descendants of the pre historic lizard family, to wallow the rest of the afternoon in snore ridden short naps. Thanks to the bloody scorching sun for that delightful tropical Chennai climate which gifts anyone who so wishes in his/her right mind the most beautiful of all tans, afternoon siestas always seem to be the safest options that we are left with. However, this was one of those Sundays when dad turned on his adventure switch. Of course he had done his bit of the home work in snooping around eateries in and around his place of work. So there we were ... dressed in freshly pressed clothes and rightly perfumed countenances, jumping into our precious four wheeled chariot, driving away to a never before visited promising place that had some how managed to capture my father’s fancy. (Actually there are way too many things that manage to catch my father’s fancy.)

Up and down the Patheon road bridge, spinning around in the middle of nowhere we landed in the supposed parking lot of Prince Plaza. Found memories of vibrant childhood excursions on “Fountain Plaza - Alsa Mall - Prince Plaza” round trips flooded my mind. Wedging the car into an empty slot that we chanced pounced upon; we walked briskly like people of purpose. Riding the elevator to the second floor, we found ourselves being welcomed by the aroma of a smooth blend of Chinese spices. So ... in we walked, into Flower Drum, a vegetarian Chinese restaurant. With dim lit, well spaced and tastefully done interiors; the restaurant was truly inviting. Gladly and quietly we slipped into our comfortable seats. The soft chinky music and a well mannered waiter and above all a quite and sparsely populated surrounding were all that we could ask for. Even before we tasted a spoonful of the food that would soon be served, we could have fallen on our knees and done a Maya styled worship of thanks for such a delightful first impression.

Well we were there for food ... so cutting short all the fuss and getting to the heart of it all, we suppressed the tears of joy that threatened to flood our eyes and scanned the menu cards that we were presented with. There were some really exotic sounding items on the listing. We ordered for some ginger and jade soup to go with crisp fried minced vegetable balls and honey dabbed cauliflower (or was it baby corn?) Manchurian kind of starters. Sipping and nibbling, warning ourselves not to guzzle and gorge like pigs, we ordered for a main course of Kwe-theya (ok .. at least that the way the pronounce it ... flat Thai noodles), spicy Hao Hao mixed vegetable gravy, some rice based dish and a couple of delightfully exciting dishes which had names that could never be pronounced by a true south Indian. Nodding and passing meaningful glances of approval at every mouthful, unanimously we graded the restaurant a full 5 out of 5. Sadly most Chinese restaurants think that sinking their dishes in soya sauce and dousing them with Ajinomotto would fool their customers into thinking that they were eating out of the kitchen of slit eyed chinky people living across the North-Eastern boundaries. Sharply in contract, the food at Flower Drum had a very refinely acuated taste that effortlessly transports you to the foggy foot hills of a wintry Chinese rice field.


Getting back to the table, we ran our finger through the menu card to satiate that naughty sweet tooth in us. Hmm.... I would have loved to miss this part of the recount, for the desserts were not as good as the soups, starters, dimsums or satays. We had ice Katchang and two leeche and peach based desserts. We didn’t mind that however, for on the whole the dining experience was rewarding in itself. Snapping a few pictures over spoonfuls of ice creams, promising to make another visit when my brother gets home, we thanked the polite guy who waited on us and crawled out belly full. Another exquisite feather on a foodie’s hat, Flower Drum!