How I Just Realized That 90% Of My Convo Is Shit.

Okay, so this morning I got an email from my Dad. It’s called the “Triple Filter Test”. It is about economizing on how much you speak and what you listen to. Go Figure. Here it is:

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Here is the Triple Filter Test attributed to the great Philosopher Socrates :

In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, “Do you know what I just heard about your friend?”

“Hold on a minute,” Socrates replied. “Before telling me anything I’d like you to pass a little test. It’s called the Triple Filter Test.”

“Triple filter?”

“That’s right,” Socrates continued. “Before you talk to me about my friend, it might be a good idea to take a moment and filter what you’re going to say. That’s why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?”

“No,” the man said, “Actually I just heard about it and …”

“All right,” said Socrates. “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now let’s try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good?”

“No, on the contrary…”

“So,” Socrates continued, “you want to tell me something bad about him, but you’re not certain it’s true. You may still pass the test though, because there’s one filter left: the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?”

“No, not really …”

“Well,” concluded Socrates, “if what you want to tell me is neither true nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?”

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Alright, so I must only probe into matters which are true, which have some goodness in them and which are useful to me. So that means, about 90% of my conversations are shit. Thanks, Dad.

Just two minutes after reading this mail, I got a phone-call from a friend who was just squirming to share some juicy bit of gossip with me. And how shamelessly I gave in. I thought of the Triple Filter Test but I didn’t have the heart or the courage to subject my friend to it. What would she think? She would probably assume I was being downright sassy or self-important. So how best can you tell people that you’re not interested in their shit without hurting their sentiments or coming across as a mighty snob?

illusions

It is a sad world we live in. We are les miserables.

And very few amongst us can face this world. The rest of us live in illusions. Illusions which make us laugh, give us strength and confidence, and tell us that everything is alright. Each of us has his or her own illusions. And we support each others’ illusions. We tread carefully and protect our illusions like bubbles which might burst anytime at the slightest indiscretion. And when these bubbles burst, everything shall be destroyed.

I, too, have my own illusions. That I’m smart, and handsome and funny. That I can deal with any kind of situation. That I can live alone and be happy. And I’m sure that people around me struggle to maintain my illusions, fearing that if they don’t, someday, their own shall be broken. And over time, our illusions seem like the reality. Except that they’re not.

We create these illusions out of our dreams. We hate ourselves, secretly. But we wear masks of self-assured and self-satisfied people. Exactly like the actors on reality shows. But secretly, and I mean in the darkest and deepest crevices of our being, of our existence, there dwells an intense loathing for ourselves. We despise our anatomy, our laughter, our emotions, our awkwardness, our character. We hate the very lines on our face, and we mock at our reflections. We stare at our reflections long and hard enough and make ourselves believe that the person we see is not us but a stranger. But the hypocrisy of our society insists that we pretend to love ourselves and accept ourselves. But we don’t. Each of us wishes to be somebody else, someone better.

And the person we dream of, we strive to become. While, in the process, we abandon our souls. We lose our identity and then we ask ourselves stupid questions: “Who am I?” and “Why am I here?”

You are yourself and you are here, no why. The quicker you learn it, the better. The lesser illusions you have, the happier you shall be.

birthday, birthday

This is me. With birthday cake on my face.

I will not get angry

Here’s a thing about anger: it’s powerful. But here’s another thing: when you overcome it, you’re powerful.

Sometimes, I have a sneaking suspicion that the world is cruel, it does all it can to prevent us from attaining happiness, from touching perfection. It makes us see how helpless we are, how inadequate our surroundings are and in this way, it makes us brood and boil about all the injustice done to us and revels behind our angry backs at having stopped another man from becoming superman. In a situation where we find ourselves angry about something, we must stop and think. We must act.

Yesterday, while lying on my bed and trying to get sleep after having watched a horror film, I had an epiphany. Not only do we believe in what we see but we also see what we believe in. Somehow, our minds have an intrinsic connection to the cosmic powers and all of our thoughts can be transformed into reality, if we believe in them. All we need to do is think real hard about something, “I will not get angry, I will not get angry, I will not get . . .”

 

Sex and Mark O’ Brien

I watched The Sessions. Yes, it is touching and beautiful in it’s own way. No, it’s not that great a movie. And yes, Helen Hunt still looks hot when naked.

The movie is based on an article by Mark O’ Brien (a poet and journalist), On Seeing a Sex Surrogate. Mark O’ Brien is played by John Hawkes, and the sex surrogate he visits is played by the ethereal and evergreen Helen Hunt.

Basically what’s wrong with the protagonist is that he’s severely paralyzed neck below by polio, however he is capable of getting an erection. Depressed by his loneliness and celibacy, he decides to see a sex surrogate who would help him to understand the limitations and functions of his sexuality. And, then he falls in love with her and writes soulful poetry to her.

More of a documentary than a movie, the themes which are tackled are: finding one’s sexual identity, disability and self esteem, religion and repression and overcoming one’s horrors and nightmares. Mark O’ Brien’s immense zest for life and his good humor in the face of adversity are an inspiration for everyone. And so are Helen Hunt’s boobs.

 

dolce far holidays

Dolce far niente is what my holidays are about. Dolce far niente all the way, dude. I have been watching movies and reading novels and singing and screaming and sleeping and no-one cares. But the best thing about this month is that my birthday is up for the 23rd. Yes, bitches, Shakespeare died on this day and I was born. *bows*

 

 

Snaps from Goa

I love clicking pictures and collecting postcards everywhere I go. Deal with it.

This is the Calingute beach. Chilled out and with plenty of hot people.

Mummy and Daddy got temporary tattoos made.

The Boat Says It All. This was taken at the Dona Paula Port.

Dona Paula Port

The Basilica of Bom Jesus

That’s Me Looking Dapper

A Beach Villa

Goa to Mumbai

Hola!

Did you know that neon party bands are the coolest things you can wear? And also they recharge themselves if you keep them in the freezer? Well, mine didn’t but that does not diminish their awesomeness! I got six of them on Baga beach when I was in Goa (remember?) and they looked so hot on me. But after keeping them in the freezer for a day, they did not glow again.

I got back day before yesterday in a very tourist-y avatar (harem pants and all) and immediately my brief try at bohemianism melted away as the rush and bustle of the city got to me. I was equal parts happy and sad upon arriving in Mumbai. But for a while, I was disoriented. I did not know how to start with where I left. Something seemed different and it seemed as if somehow in the span of time at Goa, I had changed. But what had changed? I wonder.

However it feels good to be back! I can read more novels now and watch more movies and look forward to going to film school (yay!). But most importantly I need to shed some kilos which I have surely gained in Goa because of consuming so much of meat (pork sorpatel, pasta marinara with squid and prawns, sausages, pepper steak etc etc). And also I need to catch up with some friends and other folks down here in Mumbai.

So long!

Viren.

 

Attraversiamo

Goa is calling me. I must obey. So I leave tonight by train at one o’clock with Mum-Dad. Will be there on the shore tomorrow, waiting for you. Attraversiamo.

April Fool’s Day and Weird Things Around Me

Okay, Google, you got me! I totally tried to press my nose as close to the screen as possible and smell waffles, and fear and dumpster and apple pie. After my fifth unsuccessful attempt, I realized something was fishy and I googled the “nose” feature to realize that Google made an April’s Fool out of me. Well played Google.

Anyways, apart from how I completely lost my common sense and tried to smell off the screen of my computer, there are some other weird things, which have been happening y’all. For instance, yesterday, I got home from shopping and found a . . . guess what? . . . a beer bottle on the floor of my bathroom. Now, my family might not be a bunch of teetotalers but none of us are raving alcoholics either. And so, when I asked my mom what the hell is a beer bottle doing in the bathroom, she replied (hear, hear) that she used it for her hair. She used beer as conditioner. Eww.