Vanity Fair

I am oft branded as "proud". Before I proceed, let's start with the Disclaimer - "This post is not to prove / disprove the aforementioned statement or opinion. It merely served as the trigger event that evoked the thought process. This is also not directed against anything or anyone specifically. This post contains reflections of a ruminating head on the very concept of pride and vanity, therefore is subjective yet purely academic. Writer would like to keep any ensuing discussion to be of the similar nature. "

So, speaking of "pride", the word came about from the latin root "prude" which originally bordered on a positive side of things. Now much to my disappointment, what actually the very first sentence refers to is "vanity". Vanity is excessive pride. In some ways, it occurs to me as just another form of narcissism. While pride stems from "self-esteem", vanity feeds on absurd self-centric emotion. In fact, vanity is what pride is not! A lack of pride leads to insecurity with one's own self. And only such a person, in my opinion, would look to hide from her original self and dwell in an imaginary world of self-achievements and idolatry. As Jane Austen states " pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity, to what we would have others think of us" (Pride and Prejudice). So the crux of all this is that here we walk a thin line. While pride for one's nation, culture etc. is considered to be a noble trait, pride for one's own achievments is normally called "arrogance". So the interesting thing to note here is the percieved and established superiority of the whole over an individual. That certainly stems from the organization of societies across the globe. What is good for one person is not "good enough" if that doesn't turn out to be of some service to the larger community. Indeed, a logical arrrangement (and categorization under"good") by our predecessors in order to preserve the overall well-being of the community. It's amazing how many times I have heard from several people that a single person's existence is meaningless in the large scheme of universe. Certainly modest! So the collective lot of nebula, supernovas, blackholes, galaxies and (6bn - 1) other human beings; 99% of which one has no clue about, holds higher importance in a "virtuous" person's life than himself. So the whole nation can loose it's head raving about some hero, but if his mother utters more than precisely two lines (both of which ofcourse must mention words such as God, good luck, love and support fo everyone else) of her pleasure, she forgets she is being haughty. And god forbid if the person speaks about himself! Some people are so vain that they manage to be successful and then take credit for it themselves! Come on, shouldn't the earth be first thanked for not having missed a spin and the neighborer's baby for not crying at mid-night! Some completely insolent people further think their lives should be lived according to them. I mean, what about the larger purpose and modesty of accomodating everyone, mark my word everyone into our lives!! What's more, they even speak their mind. Here is the rule of thumb - if you are seen happy with yourself way too often, you ARE arrogant. If you are secure, whatever! But if others can sense that security in you, that's a bad bad thing like you have your nose in the air. And such is the wrath of vanity that some can actually own the fact that they are called proud in a public forum quite shamelessly! * Leave that for others to do!*

Weekend Post

I had nothing to post till yesterday, even though I was asked by a friend quite a number of times to write. I wonder how such few things move me these days to write. I used to feel like writing every now and then earlier. Anyway, all that jazz and personal ranting apart, one of the best things of my whole life happened to me yesterday.

I work at an investment bank in downtown. If some of you do not have any clue about the kind of life one leads in this money making machine, trust me in some ways, you are blessed! So yeah, we don't live for more than 14hrs of the day, we run. And so it happens as a part of this whole big-bang, I get a precise four and a half minutes to get my lunch from outside and settle back at my desk. So when everyone at work decided to walk off a little early from office on Friday, I thought I could probably afford the luxury of having a long sit-down lunch. I headed out on my own. It's getting just a little chilly in Newyork. But I wanted to sit outside of this small italian restaurant near my office. It was good food, afternoon sun and a little cold wind. I was sitting at the corner table facing the street. Some obscure italian music was playing inside the restaurant. I was amused watching my shirt sleeves flutter in the wind (yeah, i know, I get amused with those petty things!!) and suddenly a voice. "I don't know about you, but from where I come, we don't let a pretty girl eat all alone" I looked around and found this incredibly old woman in a pink sweater and a walking stick smiling down at me from the road. She continued, " So?" I couldn't help but chuckle. She came and sat with me, ordered a bowl of pasta and a glass of wine for herself. And I was thinking this city doesn't stop surprising me. She was an Irish woman. I had to ask - " how old are you? like 100?" I ain't too diplomatic, am I? She laughed and said old enough to have stopped counting years. She had this crown of wispy silver hair. I kept staring at that wrinkled face. How can someone that old be so full of life!!! She won't stop talking for a second. We finished eating in about half hour. We spoke of her country and mine, of music and balle (she used to be a ballerina), of civil wars and Coco Channel. And when we parted, I was wondering if I would ever see this woman again . And She was ofcourse talking! She tapped my back with her walking stick and went - "Ms. Hotsie-totsie-banker, I found my husband on the streets of Newyork when I was 27 and broke. And you met an old hag! You ain't in for a great start." We laughed and I started walking back to work with the widest smile on my face.

Of Dust And Drama

Loveless city -
glass panes, raindrops
In half-dazed eyes floats a silhoutte
Steady beats of hearts, unfaltering steps
Amidst such confidence lurks
a faint smile - a green monster

Your house here -
white-washed, beautiful
safely tucked away from me with satin curtains
And your dreams -
Lost on their way home
almost always walk barefoot on my dew covered doorsteps

Shards of perfumed vulnerability
Cigarette smoke and tattooed memory
Love is named in dark alleys
A new love every night, a whole life cycle from 9 (pm) to 5 (am)

Crimson red and yellow ochre - gorgeous, this is your city!
Exasperated, I glanced through the prism of your dried tears -
Just a stretch of lilly white - Ah, this is also MY city.