Month: September 2011

  • Memories Unlimited

    I was thinking about memories one day, and suddenly decided to figure out my earliest memory. I was dismayed to find that the earliest one I could remember was 1st Standard, the colour of the round badge I wore on my tie and the bus I went to school in.

    I looked at old photographs of mine, and tried to figure out if I could remember what was happening while the picture was being taken. I saw the badge and the uniform, and wondered if my mind was playing a trick on me by ‘creating’ a memory from the raw material available. ( since I must have seen this photo earlier many times) As the photos became more recent, I could remember more and more, and recent photos, especially the travel ones, still seem fresh. But for how long? I began to wonder if all those vacation photos and the lifestreaming is a wasted effort. Thankfully, I document a lot of things, creating as many memory aids as possible. Videos help too, and yet…

    A relative is traveling to the Czech Republic. A couple of decades ago, the currency and capital would’ve been ‘delivered’ (in my mind) without prompting, or being asked for. Now I probably have to google for that data. But I remember the prayers I used to say daily then, and from the order in which I can chant them, I can even remember the way the deity pictures were hung in the room, though I haven’t said those prayers regularly in years. Ditto for certain Carnatic music kirtanams.  Practice may or may not make perfect, but it certainly fixes it to memory, along with a ton of associated memories from another age. 🙂

    I wanted to augment this post with something Anu had shared a while ago on Twitter – a post titled ‘The unaugmented mind‘, which is on the same topic. The irony was that I remembered that she had shared it, but had no idea on the source itself. Thanks to my own twitter backup and a third party search tool, that was remedied soon. When she shared this, I remarked that I remember weird things I mostly found unnecessary and said I wished we could choose the things we wanted to store in our memory, like virtual world filing systems. Sometime soon, I hope, but I doubt whether even the perfect documentation would capture the way we felt then, because we will have changed. But maybe the augmented human will change that too.

    until next time, what’s your earliest memory? 🙂

  • Four Steps from Paradise

    Timeri N Murari

    In the years immediately following India’s independence, the Naidu family retains its glory and wealth, and the traditional joint family ways of living. The narrator is Krishna Naidu, the youngest member of the clan, eight years old and the darling of everyone in the family. Having lost his mother at an early age, his father means everything to him, though he is very loyal to his siblings and grandparents too.

    The story begins with his father introducing Krishna, his favourite, to his, and his siblings’ new governess – an Englishwoman, Victoria Greene. Krishna’s father Bharat is an Oxford returned Indian bureaucrat, whose years in England have made him more British than Indian in his lifestyle and outlook.

    The entry of Victoria into the traditional Indian family serves as an allegory on the impact of the British. Victoria’s status change from governess to stepmother, much to the disapproval of the rest of the family and even the eldest of Krishna’s siblings – Anjali, also marks the first sign of dissension in the family as it is seen as a failure on the part of the head of the family- Krishna’s maternal grandfather, to maintain control over the family’s affairs.

    What follows is a sea change in Krishna’s conditions and within a few years he is forced to leave his ancestral home, his cousins and aunts and uncles, and live in conditions totally unfamiliar and uncomfortable to him. With age also comes the understanding that not all relationships last forever, and not all perspectives last the test of time. As he watches everything that he held sacred crumble before his eyes, he realises that even his gods have clay feet. Laying more emphasis on the early part of his life, the novel ends in 1993, when Krishna is 50.

    The novel also shows us glimpses of the conditions that probably broke the fragile bonds of large families, and forced the disintegration of a traditional joint family structure, which had survived despite the jealousies and intrigues, for generations. It is an enjoyable read, especially since it captures a range of human conditions and personalities and keeps a few tiny secrets till the end.

  • Weekly Top 5

    On Winsows 8, MS’ deal with AOL and Yahoo, Apple’s patent scraps, Facebook lists, notifications and subscriptions, Twitter’s Promoted Tweets, Web Analytics tool and funding, Google’s Zagat buy, Flight Search, YouTube edits..

    [scribd id=65149255 key=key-ha97voe8c063wcg1kht mode=list]

  • A Brand’s new story

    Brands have always been storytellers, but new platforms bring with them opportunities and complexities that warrant a tweaking of the craft. Welcome to transmedia storytelling. And you can read the rest of my article on afaqs.  (Just this once, don’t mind) 🙂

  • Teary I

    I’ve been told that I used to bawl when I was very young. One oft told story is how I used to be especially crabby during powercuts, which, before television serials, was how Kerala got its families to sit together. But, back to my serial rage. Apparently, hand held fans were beneath me, and to shut me up, dad had to take a room in the nearby hotel, which had a generator!!

    I think I redeemed myself fairly well in later childhood by becoming non-fussy and reducing the volume (in terms of sound) of my teary escapades, until I had a silent sobbing mechanism. Pain was the only thing that overrode this, but I remember that in college, during a particularly painful accident, with a half broken jaw and a doctor literally pushing back four of my front teeth  into the gums, I figuratively gritted my teeth and didn’t cry out loud. But I think, instinctively I might still cry out if I am not prepared.

    What made me think of all this? My observations of how adults and children had different crying habits. My recent trips to Kerala mostly meant a lot of time in hospitals, which, because of an atmosphere of fear and pain, are unfortunately ‘crying catalysts’. I thought of the last time that I had cried, not counting the random poignant moments (music, movies, books, thoughts) that bring unconscious tears. It was about a year back, when one rain induced skid at night was the last straw in making me feel that the cosmos was playing out a terrible conspiracy against me. The tears would have fallen for less than a minute, mixing freely with the rain pouring down my face. Maybe I was giving myself the option of believing that I really hadn’t cried at all. Heh. 🙂

    But what actually sparked even those observations were the words I read in Neal Stephenson’s Quicksilver

    Some say that crying is childish…. Crying loudly is childish, in that it reflects a belief, on the cryer’s part, that someone is around to hear the noise, and come a-running to make it all better. Crying in absolute silence..is the mark of a mature sufferer who no longer nurses, nor is nursed by any such comfortable delusions.

    Do you still cry, silently, when no one’s watching? What’s your delusion? 🙂

    until next time, the blog’s name has a ‘cry’ in it. sigh.