December December !

Finally December is here! My favorite month of the year. Yes yes it is me birth month and I love winter so I am partial...but December is my favorite month.
I subconsciously await for the anniversary of that fateful day and I wish every year that would be extra special to me. Well to be very honest even if nothing exciting happens on that day I would still eager wait for that day.
Ahh December. Everything about December is so ....well different. There is a ubiquitous feeling of completion (the ending of a year), and our personal memories only add to the drama of it all.
From our schooldays we associate December as the holiday month, picnic month, wear all your favorite sweaters month.
I, being the winter lover that I am, have the most loveliest December memories. My memories are that of slow, pleasant days, lots of tea, lots of winter clothes, shivering when the mercury drop by one half of a degree! But most of all December is the time when I spend my days under a cozy blanket reading and reading my favorite books. My days mingle with my nights, and one story melts into another.
The smoky air around me, the fog outside my window and the lives and loves of the book characters all help make my surrounding serenely surreal.
December is also the time of remembering the things of the past year, rejoice the good times and look forward to a new beginning. It's all good.
The birthstones for December are: Zircon, Blue Topaz, Turquoise, Tanzanite..etc...nothing half as exotic as Diamon (April) or Emerald (May).
Anyway still going strong with my quizzing things... so here's an interesting one that I have been thinking about for a while now.

Something just right for the mood...

Winter

Independent. Passionate. Strong-willed. Shy. Intelligent. Tranquil. Icy.

What Season Are You?
(by *Crazy Dannielle*)

Fun Quiz

I am hooked to this quiz things....some of them are so exciting! I tried them at blogthings

You Should Learn French

C'est super! You appreciate the finer things in life... wine, art, cheese, love affairs.You are definitely a Parisian at heart. You just need your tongue to catch up...

What Language Should You Learn?

hmm...I think I have a headstart on that suggestion !

What city do I belong in ?

You Belong in Rome

You're a big city girl with a small town heartWhich is why you're attracted to the romance of RomeStrolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in handAnd gorgeous Italian men - could life get any better?

What City Do You Belong In?

Unbelievable! More than one test confirmed it !

What scent am I?

Your Scent is Rose

Delicate, feminine, and softYour personality is fresh and understated

What Scent Are You?

Well....I do like roses a lot....but specifically I would like to be a tube rose....

What flower am I?

You Are A Lily

You are a nurturer and all around natural therapist.People see you as their rock. And they are able to depend on you.You are a soothing influence. You can make people feel better with a few words.Your caring has more of an impact than even you realize.

>

What Flower Are You?

Okay that was refreshing...I didn't know that.

Sugary Spicey Subculture

According to wikipedia(my research guru) a Subculture is a set of people with a distinct set of behaviour and beliefs that differentiate them from a larger culture of which they are a part. Since I have been reading up on blogs by Maggie and her friends, I stumbled onto this subculture phenomenon. As I read up more about the subject some I found out answers to my questions about my contemporaries. At the same time it gave rise to many new questions.
When I took the subculture test, I was awarded the tag of 'Prep'. Now that got me to thinking how social phenomenons have vastly different attributes and even definitions across geographical locations. Prep and other subculture group discussed in that test are more or less applicable to USA, Canada or at most some western European countries. In my country, Bangladesh, the categories and their attributes are much much different.
As with any theory or concept, there are contradictions regarding the definition of subculture.
Not delving further into that debate, I will just share some of the subculture I have spotted in my society. I must warn you though the observe and write approach to subculture is superficial, as most of the time the classification of subculture is usually done on the basis of a person's appearance, clothing and external attitudes.
The population for my survey was my fellow college students plus my fellow schoolmates. It is not a generalized commentary as the social strata I am referring to is urban, young, well-to-do,
and educated.
On the top of my head the subcultures I have noticed around me are wannabes, nerds, all-rounders, posh, easygoers, regulars, repressed, recluse.
First of all nerds: you know all about them; they exist everywhere in the world, and most of us secretly envy them. They are the smart ones in class, the teacher's pet, the presidents of nerdy clubs, preoccupied with careers, often calculative in their plans. They usually check their emotions, and although they have friends, they do not grow overfriendly towards them. Outlookwise, contrary to what teen movies propagate, they will not always wear thick glasses and baggy clothes. In fact, most of the nerds I know blend really well with regulars, and it is only when they start discussing the positronic disposition of sub-atomic particles (okay I stole ot from Friends) that you realise Gee These Are The Nerds!
All-rounders: Yes, I see heads nodding, you know them too. They are the future Rhodes Scholars alrite. Sometimes Nerds can overlap between All-rounders and Nerd subculture. These are the over-acievers. Typically they are dashing and dynamic in terms of brain and braun. They are engaged in extra-curricular activites, they play sports, they make plays, they sing, they debate, they study, they hang out with friends and they spend time with their families. They are the future CEOs, politicians, rich and famous. I will admit once again I am jeaslous of them as well.
Posh: Easiest to spot. They are clad in the most trendy clothes (often shocking ) ; they sport the latest hairstyles and they can chat for hours about celebrities and fashion. They also carry the coolest gadgets and the funkiest accessories. They are also most of the time too preoccupied with themselves to notice a fire breakout near them. Sheepishly I will add this subculture has more females than males.
Wannabes: hmm...well they are the ones who are a shade lesser than the posh. You know them right? Their intention was to make it into posh, they missed and fell into wannabe category. They try to hang around with the posh, but they dont get much attention. Nevertheless their satisfaction is they believe they are better off ( read better dressed ) than the nerds and regulars.
Easygoers:Yes these are happiest folks around. They are casually surfing through life with no worries about studies or anything else. You will see them hanging out with their friends at foodjoints or clubhouses. They are the ones with the gossip and the news; they start verbal threads and they are the first ones to take part in a protest. They are also active member sof several clubs.
Regulars: Now these are the usual people you meet and say hello to. They are the non-ugly, non-posh, non-nerd, non-wannabe....you get the picture. They are biggest subculture and they are the mediocres. Mediocre in studies, in sports, in clubs, in social life...they have aims and they may pursure those aims but they do not make a big deal out of anything. They are chilled and fairly level-headed.
Repressed and Recluse: I put them together because it's hard to distinguish most of the time. Repressed are the ones who have lots and lots of ideas and theories in their heads, but they are not too eager to share or express themselves. Recluse are the ones who well, deliberately shy away from public life and become invisible.

My favorite continent

What? you say. A favorite continent? Yes, I happen to have a favorite continent. Oddly or not it is Latin America. I have fallen in love with this continent without ever going there; through study of its history, literature and well politics. I love its diversity, both geographical and demographical, and I love its uniqueness. This continent of contrast has a rich culture and heritage, interesting (though not necessarily peaceful) political history.
It has ancient mountains - the Andes; some of the world's most beautiful waterfalls (including Angel falls); the driest of all deserts- the Atacama, eternally peacefully lakes (Titicaca) and the pampas; active volcanos; and truly majestic coastlines along the two mighty oceans.
For one thing I love all things Spanish. Now that may explain to a small extent my fixation about this particular continent. I love the literature of the region which is enthralling and magical to say the least, I like their festivals and festivities, and their unfailingly pristine landscape. You have to read Neruda to get an idea of the landscape I keep talking about. You have to read Allende, Marquez, Borges, etc to understand their social psychology.
Crazy in love with Latin America that I am, I have actually planned a trip around the continent that one day in the future I may have the means and recources to undertake. It starts in Venezuela, perhaps Columbia, through Bolivia, a long stay in Brazil, go around and about Argentina and finally chill in Chile. NO shortcuts: all the beautiful pristine nature.

Art N Stuff

I am no art expert; far from it. To me a good artwork is that which stirs a good feeling in my mind. Or perhaps even one that I can identify with; or one that remindsme of a particular memory; or one that resonates with my senses; or something that looks pleasing to my eyes. But I suppose art is more like poetry than prose. That is, it can have many different interpretations dependiing on the beholder; just as poetry can mean different things to different people. Art is poetic and Poetry is artistic. One of my favorite contemporary artist is Jack Vettriano from Scotland. I adore most of his paintings- a good example of how art can be a straight-forward representative of life and yet be subtle and beautiful. My favorite Vettriano is called "Man in the mirror"; but I haven't found it on the internet. Meanwhile above are some of my favorite paintings.

For more cool paintings check out bert's site at: http://bertc.com/subtwo/gallery_30.htm

Trance

It finally happened- writing in a trance that is. I read about it, I heard about but when it finally happened!!! I wasn't prepared for it. Well I guess you can never be prepared for something like that. I mean it was late at night, and I had intended to just browse about for a while and go back to sleep. My blogs were overdue, and I was being so lazy. I was looking for prompts that I may attempt some time the next morning- and then I came upon this prompt that said:
Begin a poem that starts with the following line from an Emily Dickinson poem
"Bring me sunset in a cup".
And I was awstruck. There was a sudden burst of words and verses in my brain and I just had to write them down. And even while typing I didn't know what the next word was going to be...but I still went on typing...and then at the end of the trance I was exhausted I had 34 lines of text which I hope I can call poetry. So here goes:
Bring me the sunset in a cup.
And the ocean inside a sea-shell
Also bring the rainbow along-
Bring me a handful of earth from your land.
I will bring the rains of the season now gone.
And use them to make a flowing river.
If we cannot bring the mountain home
Then we shall bring our home to the mountain.
We will use the color from the rainbows to paint the landscape
In summer we will paint snow, and in winter we shall paint green.
We will surround around the meadow will our belongings
Light a fire from the sunset, and begin a world anew.
We will make our house from the wilderness so
We can get lost easily. We will listen to the birds we painted.
When the winds howl loudly we will trap it in a jar
So we will have our own storms.
We will light our house with the lightning
And make our bed on the grass.
We will have the sky as our roof
And night as our blanket.
WE will lasso the moon and bring it closer to us.
Tell me will not be Utopia?
I shall use the daffodils as ornaments
And the hedges for decoration piece.
We will touch sparkle on the sea caused by the setting sun
And weave our dreams with it.
We will smell all the flowers and make our own perfume.
We will drink the river from our palms
And eat the fruits from the trees.
We will fill our hearts with all the beauty around us
And turn it into love in our sleep.
We will be free and spirited living among
Our own creations.
Man and woman. Creating a home anew.
Tell me will it not be Utopia?
------------------------------------(Tracy)

Places and cities.

The place I want to be in . ^

The place I am in right now (And have been for so long!!)

Well life is full of contradictions...Anyways I have always been fascinated by places and cities alike. They are an infinite source of inspiration- their idiosyncrasies more interesting than their appearance, and their histories more baffling than their beauties. My affinity for geography is eternal but geography's deception for me is persistent as you can see from above. I suppose living in a place for a really long time has its advantages: you learn to appreciate its qualities (however few!), you can anticipate the rain, you can smell the upsoming storm, and you can walk around its perimeter without ever fearing you will trip off and fall into another place. This blog is long overdue...so much and so little has happened since then...

CrossRoads

Isn't it ironic how in life you get things that you had marginally wished for and not the things that you pray day and night for? And oh yes, believe it, it's true: Be careful what you wish for, because it might just come true. And no matter how carefully you make your wish, there will be always be loopholes. And then when finally the wish comes true, you get tangled in the loophole and wished you hadn't wished at all!
And then there are those times when you are at crossroads: a junction of alternative life paths.
You are not always sure about which path to take. Worse yet you dont know which path you should take. I mean there are these options in front of you, and each will have significant consequences in your later life, but you just can't figure out which will be the most beneficial or trouble-free. Life's like BlackJack- you can't get too greedy because you might just find yourself outside the game.
The roads in front of you are unsure, lucrative as they may be, but risky as well. Should you follow your heart or brain? Are they separate? Do your instincts guide you ? or your logic? It is so complicated- so most of the time , most of us decide to put it off. Being the innately optimistic that we are we hope if we just wait for long enough the solution will appear by itself. Destiny will guide itself.
As much as I would like do that, there are these other times when you just HAVE to make a decision. It's all upto you: make or break. And you are either hopeless or helpless. You dont want to hurt anyone and you certainly dont want to heart yourself. It's the most intriguing choice. And you may get lost in the complex calculations whose result is the life that lies ahead.
......................
PS: Am i fundamentally incapable of writing in the third person?
Reminder: Must write the piece "All the houses we lived in"

....old poetry

Okay so this poem is new and old at the same time .....old because I wrote it a while ago....possibly two months....and new because no one has seen or heard it yet. Well actually I thought I have been publishing too many poems on the blog and not too much personal stuff....not because I dont have anything to share at all but because I am not quite in the mood to put into words the daily life that although isn't exactly non-descript but definitely needs a little bit figuring out to do. So I am putting that on hold...no wait lemme just throw in a few pointers so I remember later what are the things I had been planning to write about- The city floods of last year, The way the city almost comes to a standstill every time there is an international conference, The view from our fourteenth-floor penthouse apartment, My imaginary one month in Madrid. Sometimes I seriously think how am I ever going to be a writer with such poor memory? I mean is it not just unfair, that through some complex genetic formulation it is my younger brother who inherited my father's photographic memory and not me. Well I suppose for unfortunate writers like me, the interesting details of memory can only be sustained throught the constant process of writing; which may not be such a bad idea as most of autobiography will be already be written in the process.

Title: (unnamed)

I have walked many a mile only to reach nowhere;
I have travelled to many places without ever belonging.
Sometimes I stood still, letting life rush by me.
Sometimes I walked so fast that I didn't notice life waiting for me.
I fell into a hollow of nothingness;
I am alive yet I do not sense.
It is too late to go back and fix things.
I had bumped into destiny on the corner of the street
But I was young and a fool to not to have recognised it.
I have it all and yet I posses nothing.
My eyes see things that could have been;
My heart wants things that I should have had.
Yet on the night of a thousand miracles
I hear a calling from the past.
I don't know if I am lucky to be called
A second time by destiny or
If it is a mere hunch that pulls me out of my modest home.
I walk towards the river in quick easy steps.
I am unsure of what to find, but I am sure
I am meant to reach; come what may.
---------------------(Tracy)

Published Poetry 2

Okay....blog messup...here's the second one....

Remains of the past.

I am but a passer-by; not living, just surviving.
My days are indifferent; nights cold, bleak and lonely.
I do not experience, I only reminisce
Of:
Yellowed edges of old airmail envelopes and their dusty smell,
A dead moth once used as a bookmark-
A leftover from my wiser, brighter days-
Broken bangles and their clinking sounds.
A memoir of the days gone-by.
I reminisce:
Of deja-vu and Falling Stars;
Of Patchwork Quilts and Old Songs;
One life-- revolving around Time. And over Space.
Swollen wounds and wounded Souls.
Joyous bliss and blissful Joys.
Somewhere the scene has changed unknowingly, unpleasantly
From color to B&W.
From a cherishable Past to a relinquished Present.
Desperately looking for a Future that I can call my Own.
(My) Sighs melt into the coldness in the Air.
Miscalculations of a starry-eyed believer.
Wrong answers to Addition & Subtractions.
Incorrect ratios of Probabilities.
A Life (Some Life!)—
An incomplete work of art; a ship lost in a sea of hopelessness--
Longing to be Complete.
To find One.
To become One.
--------------------------(Tracy)

**Any feedback will be appreciated.

Published Poetry

So as promised here are two of my published poems. They were published in the journal of The English club of my university.

Realization of a dream.

It is a dream I have dreamt
For years on.
It was seeded in my days of infanthood
Sugarcoated with my earliest memories.
It blossomed during the thirteenth spring.
Its innocence being its charm.
I placed it by my heart: growing it as I grew.
It laughed when I laughed; and fell silent when I cried.
I nurtured it; breathed it; and kissed it in my sleep.
It took the shape of my favorite flower,
And stole colors from the many gardens.
And now it has matured.
My dream. My companion. My unconscious.
I await its birth.

Painfully, I let it out of my soul.
Oh! The joy I feel when I see it coming to life.
My dream setting out on its journey
To make happen the impossible,
To snatch a king’s fortune. And
To bring home the stars.
Halfway through its journey ’round the world
It’ll meet my other half.
Flying on the silver wings of hope
It’ll bring to me my Love.
My destiny.
I wait for my dream to come back to me.
I wait for it to be realized.
Amen…
******************************

Poetry Cemented

I have been bitten by the infamous Poetry-bug; and it is an exhilerating state-of-mind. It compels you to think in rhythm and in sync and coats everything around with thin film of poetic dream. Even the most mundane of things seems extraordinary....and as everything around you seems to have grown a personality of their own, you feel obligated to record this transient phase.
Long story short here's my second attempt to poem exercise 64 :"in tranced fixation of an object before you". This time the object of my affection was a post- modern pen-holder.

Title: A post-modern pen-holder

In your orbital body
you can hold so much unwritten wealth.
You are beautiful and rich with
Sunflower fossils for decoration.
Through your plastic prism body
you transform reality.
A stray branch trapped inside you
You are mercilessly uncompromising.
You are solid and you are real.
A winter garden immortalised
within you. You are loyal to
your duties and you have to
offer- a weapon to write to
anyone who wishes to.
--------------------------------(Tracy)
Hmm I think I should really try some other exercise...before I start giving life to every material object around me.
That would be one scary, surreal world. Anyways in my next blog I shall post some of my actually published poems.

Eid Insights...

Well...this Eid was definitely the most different Eid in recent years. It was a day of catching up with old friends, forgoing Eid-day rituals and lots n lots of babbling. I got to show off my published story to some of my close friends with whom I do not have the opportunity to meet up with very frequently. As usual the three days of Eid consisted of receiving anormous amount of Edi and eating tasty, fattenning food. There was a lot of discussions about things ranging from Big Bang to Philosophy and a lot of chattering about Vampires, Satanic cults and all things alternative. As usual there was a henna feast!!! And everybody had an opinion about the black henna on the hands. I think it looks cool, more like tattoo than henna. There was the usual 'show me yours and I'll show you mine' of dresses and sarees.
It is always refreshing to meet new people. Some maybe weird, some cranky and some will be both. And some maybe super fun and cool to hang out with. But all in all there's a tad bit of education in everybody; I mean you get to know something new, something different. All of that is necessary for writers and creative people in general.
Every person is a novel within himself or herself. And although in a brief meeting you may not read the whole novel (despite your best efforts!), but you can at least go through a chapter or glance at the introduction.
I will be very frank: previously I was not inclined on meeting new people and socializing on a large scale, but now that it is happening I have accepted it with an open mind. And I must admit it is mostly a good thing. I say mostly because I get tired after a while of random mingling. That doesnt mean the people I meet are any less interesting but it just means that I have a shallow antenna!!! Well looks like the Eid feelings are going to be in the air for a little while more....

Poetry in making

I will write about my daily routine in the next blog...but right now I need a dose of writing. Since spontaneous writing is not happening, I have to go with directed writing which may not be such a bad idea. I mean one can argue that strips the natural element from one's writing, but I feel originality can still be present. And most importantly it provides that much needed kickstart. So here goes...
I stumbled into this great site: http://www.twc.org/forums/hnguyen_exercise64.html
where there is a poetry exercise bootcamp going on...and I decided to take advantage of it.
My effort for the suggested topic: " In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Object : Dove Moisturizer

A voluptuos lady with broad shoulders
Angelic in its white fluidy body.

A swish of blue elegance 'round her neck
Italics enhancing her charm effortlessly.

The seal of a golden dove on its breast
And a yellow sash around her waist.

Apricot and smoothness oil for your body
For all of your Twenty-four hours, she claims.

I will caress your body to perfection and leave your skin rich
For the Twenty-four hours I will stay with you
(-Tracy)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hmm....Not a masterpiece but not a gift from hell either I think.

*************************
To write or not

They come in all, they come at once
words, syllables, sentences and phrases.
They come in random, they come in order.
They bump into one another in the grey labyrinth
creating harmony and creating chaos.
They exist in abundance and they exist in hiding
expressions, ideas, thoughts and inspirations.
They form a pattern and they break rules.
They long to be cherished and they become ethereal.
They fill up the cells in my brain with plasma imagination
And they fill up my mind with transcending ideas.
They are mine to remember, decorate and express.
They are the craft I am merely the craftsman.
Their source is the unknown hollow of the universe
And sometimes the best of them are lost in oblivion.
They are all destined to be free and to belong.
I am but the verhicle that will lead them to their destinites:
Those inifinite lassos of words, syllables, phrases and sentences.

(-Tracy)

********************** ********
Now see that's what I meant. Once you get in the mood, you can write spontaneously.That's how the second poem was conceived. Word begets word, ideas begets ideas: that is the mantra of writers and poets.
The best thing about poetry is its non-conformity. It is independent, it is not limited by strictures, it is not handicaaped by grammar, it is free-flowing, eccentric, random and fiercely inspirational even in its simplest form. But it is also the nature of poetry that not everybody can conceive them.
The second best thing about poetry is that it is relative. The same poem can have different meaning for every other person who reads it. So, in technicality there is no right or wrong in poetry. It is either love it or hate it but there is no deying it.
I plan on reading up some poems of Neruda, Lorca and the likes for inspiration.
See now this little writing assignment has left me slightly exhausted but very fulfilled. Okay, so I didnt exactly create history with those poems but they sure did enhance my reservoir of all things creative that floats around in mybrain. Yikes, just had a mental image of that !!!
OK so :Back to happy thoughts.....try to retain this happy feeling....breathe....
........................................................

Here's a line of song that had been playing in my mind all day:

I turn to water and I turn to ice
But when you hold me close, I regain my vice.


PS: All literary works published in my blog are copyrighted (c).

Anticipation of Eid

Wanted to write about a lot of things....my head is about to burst because of the random collission of thoughts. Thousands are words are aimlessly crashing into a thousand more ideas and in the end all that remains is a graffitti on my neuron walls....wonder what that might look like...
Of the things I had wanted to write about were the story in full in my head 'Desperate Times', which is gaining momentum every passing day and will soon will be pounding at my cranium demanding to be delivered; something nice n sweet about dawn....while actually witnessing the beginning of the day; something about the process of writing..how it is exclusive and all-encompassing at the same time; something about romance and love. But my desire to write about Eid has surpassed all other ideas...and since it is Chaand Rat I can indulge.
Eid day is the single most happiest day of the year. Dad and I will for the Anthem to come on TV, while Mom and Bro will for the moon to be hidden behind the clouds. WE wish for the Eid ASAP and THEY wish to extend the Ramzan by one more day. We hold our breaths (Dad and I) and eagerly watch the sky. Today the sky was cloudy and only Venus was visible, so I feared tomorrow may not be Eid. But Dad was hopeful. And then finally the announcer came on Tv and uttered the much anticipated two words "Eid Mubarak"- Happy Eid.
And then came the song : and that was my most favorite moment of the year. I love the song. It is so beautiful and so touchy.
The best thing about Eid is the sense of solidarity all around. The ever-prevalent benevolence of
people on the streets, the way no one is sad or mad. They smile at a stranger and feel happy at the sight of unknown faces because they all share a common joy. This day is for bonding, for pleasant surprises and for catching up with old friends, and for finishing up incomplete conversations. This day is free of work hazarads and animousity, competition and hypocrisy.
This day is for all to be all. I LOVE EID!!!!!

************* *************************** *************

Rummaging through the mess of memory
You will stumble upon this relic and
Remember a day of happiness
A time you spent with family
Surrounded by good thoughts.
You will remember the compassionate vibes
And you will remember the fond smiles.
That will be the gift of time-
the gift you can cherish forever.
--------------------------------------Tracy

Genration GAP

I do not identify wholly with my generation; but I am prudent enough to admit I have my reservations. I do not mean to be judgmental but that doesn’t mean I can be entirely objective. I am a bridge between my parents’ generation and mine but I do not blend into any of the two comfortably.
My generation (they keep changing the reference to W, X, Y ) is undoubtedly super-cosmopolitan, urbane and flexible. The people (more like young people) of my generation are driven (both materialistically and even spiritually), full of zeal and open to life’s surprises. Like a trait common in a unified tribe, they share an obsession for and/or impassioned by the notion of rebelliousness. Their sense of rebel is not highly idealistic. It doesn’t come from a desire to change the world or bring about anarchy unlike their counterparts of the seventies. Their rebellion is either to break free of the norms of society that are imposing, or to stand up against authoritarian figures. But most of all, their rebellion is for their Freedom- the much coveted f word.
I remember how my parents’ generation was when they were our age simply because parents never let us forget about how obedient and scrupulous they were. While our parents keep reminding us about their schoolbook perfect youth, we impishly study history and sociology in order to find out what really happened back then. We are duly surprised and shocked to find that that generation was more progressive, wicked, more mischievous, and certainly more experimental than we had been previously informed.
Every decade comes with its novel ideas and ways and every generation has its own predisposition that it considers to be supreme. Change is as inevitable as the seasons, but comparison can sometimes help put things in a better perspective.
From what I have seen people of my generation are fiercely independent, whimsically audacious and always have an opinion to offer. They have a strong sense of time and peer acceptance takes precedence over familial matters. They love a challenge and are always on the lookout for better and newer ones. They move away from tradition in a tangent and indefinitely gear towards the unexplored. They are fearless and compassionate as long as their ideals are concerned and open to alternate ways of doing things.
Traditions are set by previous generations. While some are time-honed and had been passed on through astute teaching and affirmative upbringing, others have been fabricated along the way. Every new generation, therefore, has more traditions to follow, so to speak. And every new generation also has new weapons to fight existing traditions and create new ones.
Battles between the generations are not only ideological; far less so. Changes in lifestyle are as stark as night and day; and generations that in reality are separate by a decade seem in practicality a century apart. In my parents’ generation most people had jobs as oppose to careers. The distinction between work and personal life was simple and clear: as soon as you come home you leave work behind and you are only concerned with family matters. This generation, in sharp contrast, virtually work 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Even when not physically present at office, they can be easily reached through their pagers, cell phones etc. and summoned to work. Work does not end as soon as you come back home and more often than not, instead of choosing between the two, you bring your work home. Your work avatar mingles with your social avatar until they are a chaotic blend of many personalities.
My parents and others in their generation did not spend extra time on spiritual thoughts. They quenched their spiritual thirst in the living of the mundane things: revelations arrived from accidents, and realizations from mistakes. It was common knowledge that if you live long enough, or you have lived enough life, you automatically attain a certain level of self- insight. You find the answers to your questions as you go about living.
My generation wants the answers before they face the questions. They take time out from their hectic social life to do some bone-fide soul-searching. You cannot be at peace if you do not follow Feng Shui or do I-Ching. You cannot relax until you do something Zen. You are more regular in visiting your psychiatrist than you are in paying your bills. You search fruitlessly for a friend in your therapist: telling him/her your fears and apprehensions, and confiding in him about your innermost wishes and desires. You see in our parents’ time they used to call such a person a friend. But you, the typical by-product of globalization cannot have a friend as close to your heart because most of the people you know are those who compete with you in your workplace.
In my parents’ generation travel was a virtue, a ceremonious event that had some transcending motive. In our generation it is a necessity. You can work in one country and go on to assignments in four others in three days. You have breakfast in one hemisphere and brunch in another. You talk into your phone more than you talk to real people. You are so busy getting from one place to another that you do not have to see things around you.
In the old world (well it’s not old in actual time measures but technology can stretch time beyond imagination), things were slow perhaps even unproductive. But that also meant people had more strength for self-preservation. In the current world security is a luxury we cannot buy with money.
My fellow compatriots are global citizens in all aspects. They celebrate holidays and festivities from around the world along with their own. They speak several languages and live in different time zones. They work and live fast, they multitask and they rewrite history. They are dedicated to their causes and they can be frivolous in their relationships.
They do not retain let alone practice most of the values their parents taught them. Whatever is left over from the teachings of our parents’ era should be enough to carry us over to the next big phenomenon. Whenever we will reach the place where no psychiatrist and no Zen can help, these values can help restore faith in ourselves. For no matter how different one generation is from another, in essence human nature is optimistic. Humans seek comfort in memory and get strength from things of the past no matter how distracted you get, you can always come back full circle and end where you had begun. That’s what bridges are for.