The Birth of Tragedy?

One of the people that I loved immensely at a point in my life referred to me as “my Nietzsche.” I thought too much about things, she said. Like a lot, y’know.

I got a ticket this Thursday, and for about 30 minutes, when I was actually speeding to express my anger and defiance for a ticket that was given despite my conformity to the law, I felt free. A strange high.

I was talking to a friend of mine this morning that was on her way to go rock climbing who told me of a ticket she got in May. We started exchanging info on what might be the best way for me to wiggle out of this one. As fate has it, this gal’s name is right before the person in my cell phone book who addressed me as her Nietzsche. And I started thinking…

In his work, the birth of tragedy, FN talks about how in every human, society and the world in general, there exists, a dichotomy. He uses examples from Greek philosophy to explain. There is a Dionysian side and an Apollonian side to our personalities; the individual versus the whole. One that wants to be hedonistic, see naked gals wrestle in vegetable oil, walk bare on the street, have sweaty loud sex in the middle of Sunday mass. Do everything that is pleasurable and looked down on by society. The other, that makes you follow rules and due process, makes you follow procedure and law, be it divine or manmade. It makes you believe that there are consequences for non compliance and rewards for orderly conduct. Obey and conform.

And on this Sunday morning, after burning a couple of free minutes with my good friends, I have come to wonder, why I felt the need to break free. Do you have a morning when you question everything you’ve ever done in life? From choosing the profession that you’re in to why you broke up with that one perfect gal you dated in college, who is now someone else’s fiancé. Will what you’re doing now, help you become the person you dreamed you would be as a young man, full of optimism and hope. Will things work out? Will your heart and soul be at peace someday? Will you be one of the lucky few to get VIP access to those 72 virgins in heaven =)?

Performance anxiety. Existential angst. A state of anomie. Call it what you will…

Something that makes you wonder where your life is heading, and more importantly if you have some control over it. Do you as an individual ever feel that there is a significant discrepancy between what you learnt about hard work, opportunity and advancement in your youth and what is actually achievable in real life. Are you built for something less banal that the daily routine of work, work-out, sleep and the occasional night out with some friends? Probably not a day goes by when something I see, hear or experience doesn’t impregnate my mind with this quandary. A spark that ignites all my insecurities, which I just have to swallow up; through a fake smile, a quick count to 10 or a drink of water.

I am sure that I’m not alone. What I’d like to discover is how exactly do other folks cope with it? When do you figure out your mission, your raison d’être in life? And more importantly HOW?

In the 24 years of my existence, I have been fortunate enough to present this question to several individuals that by societal standards would be deemed successful in the respective trades. Few answers I’ve received bring a fresh perspective. They vary from person to person and depend on where they are in life and how they got there. There isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution to this one.

But what about people my age? I’ve rarely been able to have a candid and serious discussion with someone my age. Most people are very uncomfortable on being broached about this topic. A large percentage are judgmental and are quick to reconstruct the pertinacious, go getter impression that one first delivered to one, that is, lets say, less than positive.

This subject is a taboo in the community of career oriented younglings. It strikes a raw nerve. Each one of us wants to be successful and each one nurtures insecurities around this aim at the same time deriving strength from a deep conviction that assures us that some day we will be successful, only if we continue to plough through life, one day at a time. And no one is allowed to talk about or discover this holy grail of personal validation.

But how do you quantify success? What are the metrics, if any? Or is it just a general sense of satisfaction and resultant bliss? Does the meaning of success change as you grow up, or are you forced to recalibrate your expectations by ground realities? It’s like quicksand. It gets in your nostrils and mouth and if you even fall into this quandary perchance, there's no easy way out.

If only the answer divined upon us without such mental agitation. Only if there was a sage or mahatma who could crack the code for us. This year, I was in Dallas for my birthday. I had dinner with a co-worker and had kulfi in an earthen cup (which he calls Indian flower pot ice cream.) And just let it out (which I rarely do.) Licking on some mango ice cream he answered.

“Sharjeel, some things in life need time to make sense. Heck, I haven’t figured it out yet myself. But if it’s any consolation, you’re asking the right questions. The answers will come, in time. Until then, don’t let life get the better of you.”

That was April. And then I got a ticket, that sent my mind in a spiral. Anyways, shower, shave, movie, iftar and prime rib. That’s what I’m getting out of life today.What's your plan?

Thanksgiving in Baja California

It's funny how most great ideas pop into your head when youre in the company of friends, hanging over a drink and talking about things that make no sense. Being as un-PC you can possibly be, bashing politicians, bitching about unsuccessful forays with senoritas and things that happened at work.

This weekend, my buddies Ashok and Dennis, sat down over a couple of drinks before we were to watch the Idi Amin movie (excellent flick.) And somehow someone quipped, what are you doing during thanksgiving? And from there on, a vacation idea of unparalleled brilliance was born.

We'll go to Baja, fry turkeys, surf, swim, see dolphins, partay it up with the fun loving people of Mexico and invite some of our co-workers to go with us. I thought I'd broaden the scope of this invitation (ugh, corp-speak) and invite you folks too.

And if you haven't figured out what you're doing over thanksgiving, give your buddy a holler peoples! Now to go find a beach bungalow that I can rent.

Take yer Ticket, And Shove It.

I got a ticket tonight driving to the airport. I was doing 85 in 70 mile zone. That’s what the officer said. I was bummed because I was on cruise control and on 70 mph. Didn’t want to argue with the fella.

But as I took the ticket from him and drove away. I let the rubber hit the road hard. 95 mph and I was at the airport in 30 minutes. Sometimes it’s just so good to break away from convention, procedure, rules, expectations, courtesy, civility and let go. Be free. Dont you too?

Any lawyers out there who can help me contest this ticket. Now would be the time…

Up for a Sandwich? I meant Seafood Mornay?

A couple of months ago, my good friend Ashok and I were talking about outsourcing. Ashok had just been asked if he thought that outsourcing was a fair practice, especially since it meant more work and less pay for our brethern back in India. I had quipped, purely wanton and to solicit a laugh, that they'd probably work for a sandwich. This week I flew up to Oregon for work. I spent Monday in Portland, catching up with some co-workers and friends. We got dinner later that night. Portland has the largest number of restaurants per capita, more than any other city in the US. That means there's a lot of great great food around, waiting to be tried. John Mackey, the CEO of whole foods, once said, that of the many pleasures that human beings seek and enjoy, great food probably made up for most of it. (Unless you're oversexed and underfed.)

We had dinner at a great place. And then I drove to Eugene, where I was to wake up at the crack of dawn an get to work. Work went by fast and I was out by 6pm. I wanted to go to a place called Electric Station, a former train station that's become a super-pop restaurant. I decided to walk and unfortunately, without a map. It took about 20 minutes of walking around random streets that I realised that I was lost. At first walking around in a strange place was refreshing, but as darkness began to set in, I wanted nothing more but a bite to eat.

I saw this one gal walking on the same deserted street I was on. And she was cute, so I mustered some courage and asked her if she could tell me where the restaurant. "What's in it for me?" was the response. Fiesty little thing, I thought. The 5 seconds that I took to smile at her while I contemplated a comeback seemed pretty long.

My mind was running at warp speed. Usually this is the time my head starts talking to itself.

What do I say? What do I say?
Am I looking stupid?
(Offcourse I am.)
Damn it! Say something.
Tell her that she's a good gal for showing a man her way.

No NO NO!!!

Does she want a sandwich?
(She's not homeless..)

Seriously.. SERIOUSLY @#**!
Ah!!! I've got it.

There's a good meal and some tolerable company for you, if you walk with me to the restaurant, I said. This brunette looked at me weird for a moment. Or you could just tell me where to go and continue with your evening and followed by an evil grin. =)

She did give me directions, and I thanked her and started walking to the restaurant. She "had plans." As I was walking I wondered why I had just invited her to dinner? I mean, why did I do it? Was I being social or I that I just didnt want to eat alone that one night. As I did, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Anitra (she had a badge), the gal who I was talking to me 5 minutes ago.

In a blushing, shy and seemingly feeling awkward tone she asked me if the offer of dinner was still standing. I smiled with my shiny 32 on display. No, it isnt. But you can earn your meal by telling me about what there is to know about Eugene. And we were on our way.

As we walked, Anitra, who preferred to be called Andrea (beats me) told me that Eugene was settle in the late 1800s and was primarily a lumbering town, but now it was into wine, technology, outdoor tourism and all kinds of cool stuff. There was a university that she attended and studied physical sciences there. She was most definitely looked the part. She wanted to be a sports physician and work for the US soccer team. And then from Eugene, our conversation became more focussed on Andrea.

Over the next 90 minutes we ate, I told her what I did and why I came to Eugene. I told her how sometimes having dinner with a stranger is the most welcome thing that could happen and that I was really happy that she could join me. She ordered the Seafood Mornay, with wine and took some of it to go.

After dinner, she offered to walk me back to my hotel and I thought it was nice of her. About 10 minutes later, we were at the Hilton on 6th Street. So, we're here, she said. Yes, we indeed were. There was this glow in her eyes, my head telling me that here was an opportunity to capitalise on. I liked her, it was a perfect evening, but for some reason I wanted to leave it at that. Yeah, I have an early morning tomorrow, but thank you for being so good to a complete stranger, I'm sure it'll come back around.

She looked at me. Her grey eyes were gleaming beautifully under the sodium lamp. She hugged me, kissed my cheek and told me that she had a great time. Then wrote her number on the receipt (because we didnt have any paper) and asked to give her a call if I needed directions again.

So off I went into the hotel, took the elevator, changed and popped into bed. As the lights went out and I looked out to the window, with the city overlayed on a moonlight horizon, there was this feeling of calm satisfaction that put a smile on my face as I began to count sheep.