My Surveys of Philosophies-1

Even though by academic training I am a postgraduate in chemical engineering, I have long been a student of philosophy. In fact, science and engineering are also extension of philosophy or study of questions of philosophy. For me, philosopher, just like a scientist or engineer, is not someone who gives theories; for me, philosopher is someone who asks questions; one who, as Albert Knox had put it, possesses faculty of wonder because the theories and answers follow the questions, whenever asked, naturally based on our experiences and milieu.

I have always believed that living in or with adversaries of life makes one a true ‘philosopher’, they force one to question the life, the reality, the existence, the purpose, the knowledge and everything in between. One who hasn’t seen adverse days, one who hasn’t lived a life of struggle, one who hasn’t had even one heart break, one who has not failed even once, one whose most cherished dream hasn’t been broken, one who hasn’t cried his heart out, one who hasn’t rose through ranks, one who hasn’t had success with multiple bouts of failures; cannot question life, knowledge, existence, reality, reason, mind, heart and soul. The great leaders, philosophers, authors, scientists and every one who questioned or questions the world’s order, its accepted beliefs, thoughts and practices go through their own set of struggles and difficulties.

I have grown up amidst tough times. To have reached where I am at present is a miracle. Therefore, from much younger days, I have been a reader or a thinker [for want of a better word]. I used to wonder: why not me? All my classmates seemed to better and normal lives, with happy family, then why not me? These doubts along with my mother’s influence made me strongly religious. To beg happiness and security from an imaginary entity back in the younger days seemed plausible.

However, when I used to question these ideas, little did I know about the word and idea of philosophy or as is called in Sanskrit as Darshanas. How and When I came to know about the word and idea of philosophy? How I came to realise that all my life I have been a student of philosophy? In university days, when I was around 17, I read Jostein Gaarder’s Sophie’s World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy. Apart from Sophie, Alberto [rather Albert] also succeeded in making me realise the already awakened faculty of wonder in me. It was then I learnt about the word and idea of ‘philosophy’. And that it is a whole new world and I have long been a part of this world, without even realising it.

For my part, before reading this book, I had read Śrīmad Bhagavad Gītā, Brahmasutra, Yajurveda, some Puranas, Mahabharata, Ramayana, Bible[Mostly about life and teachings of Jesus Christ], Gautam Buddha, Mahavir, about life of Socrates and Plato and many such theological or philosophical texts by various monks and ascetics such as Dalai Lama and many saints of India. The first three examples that I gave, along with teachings of Gautam Buddha and Mahavira, are not ritualistic theological texts, they are pure philosophical texts which attempt to provide answers to questions on life, grief, death, knowledge, reasoning etc. While the latter examples i.e. Puranas, Mahabharata, Ramayana, Bible etc. are like stories but mostly consisting of characters which are telling their audience about the answers to questions on these abstract matters in their own way, either by demonstrating the answer through an event in their life or by plainly stating it to the audience/reader. 

However, Gaarder’s book introduced me to world of Western Philosophy. Before that I only referred to Eastern Philosophy [Indian] and I didn’t even know that it is “Eastern Philosophy”. And when I read the ideas of western philosophers of Middle Ages, Renaissance and beyond, I found that much of their ideas have all been told in Eastern Philosophy much before them, however expressed in different terms. For example: The philosophy of Existential Nihilism was propounded and postulated long ago in texts such as Vedas and Gita as “World is Maya and Mithya”. However, the study of western philosophy and philosophers introduced me to many new ideas, from those of Immanuel Kant’s to Arthur Schopenhauer’s [who largely agreed with Indian philosophy, but expressed it in a totally different yet brilliant style] and beyond.

I found many ideas of western and eastern philosophy to be similar. For example, If in eastern philosophy [Indian philosophy to be particular], we have nyaya; western philosophy has logic. And in multitude of theories given by eastern and western philosophers, I have found many theories to be similar but along with various other theories, where the experiences of the authors have been strikingly opposite. I have not reached a stage where I can give my own philosophies of life, reality, knowledge, logic, reasoning, experiences etc. Some people reach earlier, some people reach late and some never reach, some see no point in reaching at all, which is also fine though. And one day I stumbled upon a modern Indian philosopher – Jiddu Krishnamurthi, who, in essence, said that there is no philosophy.

How I reached from Jostein Gaarder to Jiddu Krishnamurthi to Apatheism (from Theism and then Atheism), Pessimism and Existential Nihilism, via likes of Kants, Schopenhauers and Humes is a story to be told in series of other such writings in future.

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Currently Reading

Being an avid reader, the probability of finding more than two books on my ‘currently reading’ shelf, at any given point of time of year, is always one. Currently, I am reading four titles in parallel. This urge to read titles in parallel comes from yet another deep-seated urge to know maximum in minimum possible time. This deep-seated urge comes from the insecurity that while I read one book, the “world” would have read hundreds of titles and I will be left behind. I do not like being left behind. I like to take charge and to explore the unexplored before anyone else. This deep-seated insecurity has led me to read many many many titles. I recollect that this year I have read around 50 books. Should I list them all? I will. Some titles I might not recall verbatim, so I will have to make references to my library card history, ibooks library, kindle library and goodreads [on which I got active just recently]. However, this post is about the four titles I am currently reading.

1. The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte (Volume 1 of 4) by William SloaneMy father introduced me to Napoleon Bonaparte in my childhood days. He made up a story around it, may be to get me out of the inferiority complex of being a little shorter in height in school days. “Bona” in colloquial Hindi means – “of short height or dwarf”. I think you can now guess the little false story. I had read “The Rise of Napoleon Bonaparte” by Robert Asprey in my college days. The book is concise account of the great emperor and is full of effusive praises. It captures his journey from Corsica to Austerlitz i.e. his rise as the King of the French. This year, I felt need of looking into the life of the great emperor with academic precision. And mostly I was interested to know about the milieu of the time when Napoleon did a coup d’état. Hence, the current book! William Sloane’s book is dispassionate account of the King of the French. The author, with his beautiful prose, walks us through the life and times of Napoleon. He has presented the French milieu at the time of Napoleon, and the events that led to his rise. The first volume is more about the milieu than the emperor himself. Men are not born great, they reach the greathood in testing times. This book is an ample proof.

2. Essays in the Art of Writing by Robert Louis Stevenson– This is a book on a technical subject matter, as a patent attorney would put it. To me the book is like Stevenson revealing secret of his brilliant writings. He gives rare insights into the choice of words, the rhythm of a phrase, the pattern of the phrase and the content of the phrase. He has proven with academic precision that writing verse is easier than writing prose. I hope I internalise this book and actually reduce learnings from it to practice. The book is written in a style which is distinctive of Stevenson. I know about the author from Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr HydeIt is only now that I have come to know of his other works, and recently downloaded his Essays on Travel on ibooks.

3. de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme by Miguel de Cervantes (Translated by Charles Jarvis) – Many might be able to guess that the book I am referring to is The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. The spanish phrase that I have hyperlinked to the book text translates to English to mean “whose name I do not wish to recall”; the phrase is in the opening sentence of the story. The spanish phrase is quite popular, I knew it even before I knew whence it came. I found out that the translation that I am reading of this great Spanish work of literature is not the best one. But this is the only one available on Google Play. I am currently on 7th Chapter of Part 1. The book is engaging, witty and humorous. I wish I could read it in the language it was written, to laugh some more. When the sources of laughter are limited, or if your life has expunged all that caused you to laugh, get to this book. Never for a second will the smile disappear and regular laughters are certain!

4. Unweaving the Rainbow by Richard Dawkins – First of all, I am reading paper edition of this book and not an ibook or e-book or Kindle or Google Play edition. I picked it up at a book shop because of the title, because of the subtitle and because of the fact that the title, subtitle and the chapters under this title and subtitle were all written by Richard Dawkins. In the book, Richard Dawkins is telling Keats that science and its increasing knowledge has not killed poetry or other fine arts; have rather given more for imagination. An honest confession: I felt same even before I picked up this book. But Dawkins has his own combative way of telling this to people. It is a very interesting book. And I am mostly reading it for inspiring myself to write ‘scientifically conducive poetry’. For example in my poem (if you want to call it so) “Ringing Hollowness“, I have this line: “Its shrill shakes my heart and soul to their bosons”.  I have been writing scientifically conducive poetry much before I picked this book, for example, the one I posted recently, which I had written last year, around 2-3 months after discovery of Higgs boson.  

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Ringing Hollowness

I am not a fan of structureless poems or as they call it free-verse poems. I prefer Shakespeare over Pablo Nerudo.  I like pattern, rhythm, rhyme and their interwoven webs in a poem. However, I thought why be restrictive in structures? Poems are all about human expression in mysterious ways with ample imagery. Prose gives us independence to express ourselves in straightforward phrases. Poems give us a platform to say our deepest feelings in terms of imagery, metaphors, so that we express everything yet do not express anything at all. If time and life can have no structure and no definite meaning; does it make any sense that our expressions be structured and have a coherent meaning? I am very certain about my opinions, my feelings, and my rules. So it may be guessed how difficult and how tough it would have been to come up with the following, which may be gibberish at worst and a feeble attempt at poetry at best.
A hollowness rings inside
Very loudly. Its shrill shakes my heart
and soul to their bosons
and fill them with a fear. The fear of uncertainty

never scared of uncertainty.
throwing caution to winds and worries to tides
on waves of uncertainty I loved to ride
with feet firmly on surfboard of confidence and pride.

Not anymore. A heart went estranged,
the philosophy of life
and the manner of living then changed.
pride shows many cracks
with chutzpah pulverised.
surfboard lies lost in the waves
perhaps drifted with another surfer or tide
more I struggle to find the board,
the more I find my life abhorred

in mornings the shrill is louder
then I learn heart is his own marauder 
told him to not indulge in passions’ pursuit 
that he can’t handle the force so brute
yet he dared chased those dreams
he went from one to other extremes
the chase was blind led by longings
with every step emptiness yawning
 
in the end he lost the chase
but inertia kept him going against fate
now the heart has resided
though momentum is yet to be subsided
this momentum keeps the inside hollow
from this the shrill of emptiness follow
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Being an Indian bachelor

Being an Indian bachelor is arduous and exhausting. But it is also full of  funny and humorous “anecdotal adventures” that you go through, in order to elongate its life. Bachelorhood doesn’t come easy in India. To maintain the regal status quo of bachelorhood and to save this divine bliss from evil eyes of our parents and relatives, requires a great amount of skills and efforts in planning and execution. It is a task where the parents and relatives are pushing your luck downhill, while you drag it uphill. In order to extend our bachelorhood, the feats of planning and execution are to be continuously reinvented, retold, reinterpreted, reorganised and re-executed to perfection. Yes, only to perfection!  If any of these tasks falls short of perfection, kiss your bachelorhood goodbye!

The force of emotional blackmail, the gentle but exhaustive cajoling, and the ‘seduction’ techniques [parents showing photographs of different girls] per unit area of your very being [in every aspect] is too high for you to take risk of performing these feats to anything less than perfection. In the process of saving or extending our bachelorhood, we, the much tortured bachelors of India, ‘reinvent’ ourselves. Sometimes out of habit that gets developed. Sometimes out of compulsion. Sometimes just to feign our parents that we are on rediscovery of ourselves. During these reinventions, some have gone on to claim that they gained true knowledge of self and hence salvation while living.  One of my friends remarked that he has now become an intellectual, a thinking being and a left-liberal idealist. Yet another friend remarked that now he has discovered the gist of life that it is meaningless and getting married will give the illusion of “life has a meaning” and put him at risk of ‘sufferings’. One friend came forth and noted that he now truly believes in absolute hedonism, which can only be practised while staying bachelor. Many became philosophers, some became saints, some started teaching poor kids in the locality and those who are still struggling with their own discovery are writing.

Changing diapers, accompanying wife for random shopping in some distant shopping mall while she carries a tiny purse, and I carry at least one kid and a plurality of shopping bags, is really not how I imagine my life to be. Sure, life is meaningless embodiment of being but these activities will make life totally insignificant, they will take “meaning” out of “meaningless”. And I don’t want to live a “less” life. Ever since I graduated, the sword of marriage has been hanging over my head, with my parents and relatives dancing around me like those wild tribals who dance around their “meal of the day”, after they have caught it and are just about to cook it in a huge cauldron, with the poor “meal” tied upside down to a stick put above and across the hot cauldron. May be, I imagine marriage to be THAT cauldron because I haven’t really given it a serious thought, for lifting cute kids can’t be that bad and carrying those bags must come much easier, if I also get to carry her along with those bags ! Ahem!

I have been planning and executing relentlessly, to perfection, various schemes, since 2007, to elongate my bachelorhood and stay away from this cauldron. And I have been successful. I can say that my life since graduation until now is sum total of various schemes that I planned and executed! Here is the list of excuses that have kept me alive:

1. I have no job: In India, it is common to get employment directly from one’s university campus. Luckily, I was not the one. I was left to search for it in open market, because I did not want the mundane job of being a software developer for a first world country. I always painted a rosy picture, to my parents, of my dream job – a job near innovations, yet not in hardcore research/laboratories; a job that enables me to bring ideas to market; a job that is technical as well as managerial and so on. BEWARE- you can afford to be unemployed only for an year. MAXIMUM!

2. Higher Education: Now this melodrama of “elusive job” can only continue for one year. I learnt that hard way. Because after that they started forcing me to take up any job that comes along and get married. Now, as told, that one has to continuously reinvent, retell reinterpret, reorganise and re-execute, to perfection; I reinvented my self. I retold them my dream in a manner reinterpreted. And organised an event, and executed it to perfection. I went for higher studies. Abroad. In London. World’s top university. For almost two years. So, in one strike,  I took care of all. Bachelorhood, travel, education, adventure and life abroad. It extended my bachelorhood by two golden years. In that time, my 5 friends got immolated in the holy fire of matrimony.

3. Job in another city: I came back home after 2 years. And my parents were ready to pounce upon my dear bachelorhood. But I reinvented myself again. I remarked that the “dream job” of mine is not in this city [my home town], it is in another city. A farther off, distant city in another part of India. So I asked my parents to let me go there, find a job, “settle down”  there and then marry. They gave me one year. During this period, I saw 2 friends being dragged down the aisle.

4. Low paying job: I took up a low paying job in the other city that I went to. Very low.  Around US $200 per month. Now in this salary, after you have paid for rent, food and travel, there isn’t much money left to even buy one new underwear for yourself, leave alone sexy lingerie for your wife. They gave me one year but I made it one and half by this master stroke! 2 more friends sacrificed their bachelorhood at the altar of matrimony.

5. Entrepreneurship: After one and half year, I got a better paid job opportunity in my home town. I was scared that if I go there, my bachelorhood will be devoured by the predators of bachelorhood i.e. my parents and relatives. Somehow lure of money took me back to my home town. Something urgently was to be thought of, reinterpreted, retold and re-executed to keep the predators off the trail of their prey. This French word “Entrepreneurship” came to my rescue. First, it took me 6 months to get them to pronounce it correctly. And then another six months to tell them benefits of entrepreneurship. And then six months in talking about the ideas I had. Smartly added 18 months to the backpack of my bachelorhood. While I was in my hometown, I attended funeral of bachelorhood of my 3 friends.

6. Leave the city again: Now you can only talk about entrepreneurship for 18months to 24 months WITHOUT having any idea of what you want to do. After that people will call you fool. I did not want to be called one. I took up a even better paying job in a distant city. And I left my home town again. Though, I kept the “entrepreneurship” itch alive. I convinced them that the other city had better opportunities for opening a new venture. I need to take up this job so that I can explore the city without incurring expenses of my own. This year it was really difficult to save my bachelorhood – mostly because my 7 friends had decided to tie the proverbial knot and hang themselves by it.

7. Leave the country ASAP: You are in new city. You make new friends. You are really enjoying this well-paid job. So much that, over the phone conversations, you don’t talk about entrepreneurship to your parents at all [less than perfection]. I did that. Now this was a capital mistake. The strategy was compromised in the leisures of life. The predators were on the trail of their prey once again. There was no escape. And Whooshhh– “I am going abroad to work-got offered a partnership in a firm”. I served the notice period of the previous company and FLED the country, and now living abroad. 3 friends are about to be devastated by Hurricane Matrimony in next two months.

In between, a few things happened which were not part of these “schemes”, but that is another story to tell.  Anyways, from hereon, what excuses I can invent, only time will tell. However, I have given them a description of my ideal girl. Yes, I have agreed to get married but only to THAT ideal girl! That is to say that I have put the predators of my bachelorhood on a wrong scent. I think I need not worry for another 3 years now. They will go round and round in jungle of matchmaking, without reaching anywhere, while I sit atop a long, dense tree of bachelorhood. But what if they really find that ideal girl?

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Mother English

English is not my first language. She is not the language in which I talk to my parents, friends and relatives. She is not even my second language. English is my third language to say it colloquially. Punjabi is my first language, while Hindi/Urdu is my second language. However, despite she being my so- called third language, I feel as close to her like a child feels near to his/her mother. My immediate schizophrenic dialogues and thoughts are in English. My dreams are in English.

My grief and my sorrows are best expressed by me in English. If there is any language that can rightly translate my tears and choked nose, she is English. My loneliness and emptiness find their vent only through English. My recluse and seclusion converse with me in English. For me, no other language can express whatever is dark, incomplete and unsatisfactory about my life and world around, more beautifully, effectively and perfectly than English. For frivolous and ephemeral emotions of happiness, love, satisfaction, completeness, life etc., I have my first and second languages. But no other language than English can shelter my emotions pertaining to sorrow, grief, loneliness, seclusion and dark.

English gives me warmth, comfort and encourages me to think. English protects me from the frivolous emotions that surround the humans, she provides me with words to ward off all that is evil.  English shelters me when I am dejected, grief-ridden and in a state of despair. She takes me to a state where I am neither happy nor sad, neither satisfied nor unsatisfied, neither complete nor incomplete. She takes me to a place where I feel like a child. English is therefore much like my mother. She covers me with blanket of beautiful sonnets and poems in cold nights of dejection. She assures me, with her well poised rhythmic prose, that she will listen to all my sorrows and will help me to pen them down. Which language has so beautifully differentiated between loneliness and seclusion as English? She tells me when I am lonely and when I am secluded. She also tells me when I am uninterested and when I am disinterested.

I first made acquaintance with English when I was around 3 years old. I learnt its alphabet by heart. My first ever “real” letter, which I sent to my sister in Punjab, was written in English. My first ever essay or article on any subject matter, was written in English, on “How to make tea” , when I was around 5 or 6 years old. In that essay, I talked about how on Independence Day holiday (of India), I made tea for my family. My prose was broken yet passionate. Every word, as my father said, had fragrance of Darjeeling tea. And that he could picture himself making tea. Well, he must have said so to encourage his son, and he succeeded too.

Much of my knowledge, wisdom and character comes from English. My beliefs of liberty and equality come from her. My ideas of romance, philosophy, politics and science too come from her. She has been very vivid and kind. She introduced me to Tom Sawyer, Alice and Rusty in early days of life, and then to Sherlock Holmes, Newton and Darwin towards the senior years of school. In university, she introduced me to Immanuel Kant, Sophie’s World, Karl Marx, Shakespeare, Orwell, Adam Smith and likes. And after that she introduced me to history of India, US, Europe, world at large and their great men.

I, indeed, owe a great deal to her. I am too small, and my vocabulary too limited to express my gratitude towards her. From being my favourite ‘lego’ game in childhood, in which I joined letters to construct words and sentences, to teacher in school and university to currently being my bread winner – She has been with me all through. She has seen me grow from reading Tom Sawyer to drafting complex patent specifications, much like mother sees her child grow from childhood to adulthood. I never say I picked her up or adopted her; rather she has picked me up, adopted me and listened to my innermost feelings and thoughts.

While she has been gracious to me, I have been selfish to her. In happier times, I did not come to her. I did not talk to her. I ignored her. Yet, when I felt dejected, lost and was in much grief; and when I felt the world was suffocating me with its ironies and hypocrisy, I as a selfish son went to her, and she, like a selfless mother, again took me into her fold, and encouraged me to say all my sorrow, to share all my loneliness and to chase away all my fears.  I make many mistakes, my prose is banal, I perpetrate comma splice, at times I choose wrong words, many times I don’t split infinitives when I should, sometimes I direct her towards the present when I am talking about the past, yet she accepts me with all the mistake and errors. She shows me references, from her elder and much learned children, that any style of talking with her is good as long as I follow her from heart, respect the liberty she gives, and love her integrity.

To her, I am always indebted!

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