The Hi Fi connection

Published in Sunday Speaking Tree

 The Hifi connection within

     The ever increasing influence of social media has made a big impact in everyone's life. The internet serves as a portal for continuous interconnectedness.  One can instantly  share moments, emotions, thoughts with others.  This constant need to connect with others tends to isolate rather than connect. Pictures of a family sharing space with one another but each connected  electronically to a distant friend or acquaintance is commonplace.   Another scourge of  these networking tools is the dubious ability  to project an image, and showcase oneself. It  can be used to create a virtual world with images and impressions of being happy, successful, wealthy.  Pictures of marital bliss, being in a totally fulfilling relationship, or being felicitated, honoured or appreciated are ubiquitously featured on most social networking platforms. Does it help to paint an image that obfuscates the reality just to impress others?
How effective can broadcasting a virtual reality in the virtual world really enhance our own standing ?
The difference in how we perceive ourselves vs how others see us is referred to as the Fundamental Attribution Error. Projection of an impression  is a misrepresentation that amplifies this error. Broadcasting a virtual image of oneself merely to seek acknowledgement, appreciation, acceptance and approval erodes ones self esteem. It germinates a  seed of discontent with the reality.  Self appraisal and self esteem is based on what I think of myself and  largely on what I think others think of me.
W H Auden the noted English- American poet opined- "The image of myself which I try to create in my own mind in order that I may love myself is very different from the image which I try to create in the minds of others in order that they may love, respect and accept me."There is invariably a great discrepancy between what others think of me and what I think others think of me. Just as there remains a yawning gap between what I think I am and what I think I would like to be. All  endeavours to project an image of oneself is aimed at minimising these discrepancies. Two simultaneous discordant  images  or beliefs lead to what is known as Cognitive dissonance. The term cognitive dissonance is used to describe the perilous conflicting state of mind resulting  from holding two conflicting beliefs. When this discrepancy is formidable, this perceptive parallax creates a quagmire of ones own identity.
    Greater relevance and importance of others opinions of ourselves renders our self esteem very vulnerable. Life becomes a constant struggle to bridge this insurmountable chasm. The image that we have of ourself is intrinsically a virtuality to begin with. All cosmetic upgrades of this virtual image in a virtual world is virtual madness. A candid, pragmatic assessment and acceptance of ourselves and our abilities and limitations is crucial for our well being. Life is too short to be further reduced to merely an effort to depict oneself as  someone that one would like to become or like others to believe one is. Life is too precious a commodity to squander away in this lust to become what I am not.
The real connection that needs to be effected  is the connect with ones own   self. This connection is a HiFi ( high fidelity) connection  and not a Wifi. It requires no device or media. It is a connection that exists by default. Its just that all outward interactions generate too much noise that interrupts this link. Solitude and silence help re'establish this link. Communicating with oneself is meditation. When the observer and the observed merge into a holistic unity, the need to communicate becomes superfluous. One becomes aware that the true self is the conscious awareness that is observing  this virtuality called Me.

Dr Deepak Ranade

Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.

Realism

The perks of a morning sojourn. They surely make the mind contemplative. As i watch this drama unfold, i wonder if this whole universe is really a Reality or just a projection on my consciousness. And then these thoughts develop into some serious musings.

Does 'Reality' really exist?

Our perception of the world we live in is based on  Physical realism.  A conviction that  the physical world we see is real and exists by itself. The evolution of scientific thought and quantum physics in particular has forced us to review our understanding of Physical realism. Quantum theory consistently works, but it does predict particles that entangle, waves that superpose and then yet again collapse to a point. Such phenomenon are physically impossible and are "imaginary." Paradoxically we have a theory of what doesn't exist, to successfully predict what does. A virtuality to understand and explain reality?
Sapta-bhangi Naya ( Syadvada) is an important ideology of the Jain philosophy. It stems from the Sankhya school of "darshana",a premise founded on pluralism. Syadvada is neither nihilistic nor , agnostic. It attempts to underline the limitations of our perception and comprehension to fathom the ultimate truth.   Syadvada alludes to the relativity of knowledge and perception of reality. It proposes seven scenarios or interpretations of reality.
1)It exists,

2)It does not exist

3)It exists and does not exist simultaneously

4)It exists , but can't be asserted

5)It does not exist and cannot be asserted

6)It exists, it simultaneusly does not exist, and it cannot be asserted

7)It can never be asserted.
The first three are fundamental coefficients of reality.Totally subjective. Either it exists, or it doesn't or then it is both simultaneously.
The last four are observer based attributes where the Reality is in relation to an observer and becomes objective.
Western philosophers were also making forays in determining the existence of a Reality. Solipsism was first recorded by the Greek thinker Gorgias (c. 483–375 BC) who stated
Nothing exists.Even if something exists, nothing can be known about it.Even if something could be known about it, knowledge about it can't be communicated to others.
The Sophists believed that "objective" knowledge of Reality was a literal impossibility.
       Does reality really exist? If it is indeed objective, then it ought to exist independent of the "Perceiver". But if the perceiver is part of the reality, then reality will have to be a phenomenon that will have to be apperceived. Apperception is "the introspective or reflective apprehension by the mind of its own inner states".
Immanuel Kant called this  transcendental apperception in which perception of an object involved the consciousness of the pure self as subject.
Our understanding and comprehension of all that "exists" is based on sensory ccognition. The sense organs have receptors that on stimulating transduce the signal into an electrical impulse which is de-encrypted by the brain to generate images, sounds, textures smells and tastes. Our conviction in the truth of the universe we inhabit relies on the tangibility and uniformity of our cognitive faculties. This tangibility could just be a program of the neural networks. As clinical neuroscientists we do come across gross derangements of cognition that significantly distort perception.
     Quantum Physics unambiguously declares the primacy of the observer for the universe to assert and establish its existence. Can the universe and/or an unchanging reality exist a priori? Could it be a highly consistent projection on the screen of a conscious observer?
A projected image, would certainly fulfil the criterion of the Saptabhangi.It exists, it does not exist, it simultaneusly exists and also not exist. In the absence of a conscious observer, it might exist, it might not, might do both simultaneously, but could never be ascertained.
If the Self contains as also manifests as the universe, then the only reality that exists is the Upanishadic truth
"Aham Brahmaasami" or I the Self am the source, the creator, and observer of this entire Universe.
Dr Deepak Ranade

Guardians of legacy Manjiri Date

There are some people who claim they scripted their own destiny, some who believe that destiny cannot be changed and then there is yet another lot who don't believe in destiny at all. I for one believe that there are a few who just go about working relentlessly without respite. They probably don't even have time to think about such contentious matters and probably end up forcing even destiny to give in to their wish.
  We are always greeted at the door by this 80 plus octagenirian, with a smile, sometimes toothless, but brimming with joy and cheer.
Can't miss that apron tied  round her frail midriff, a testimony to her being set for taking on not just the kitchen chores, but life in general. There must be something in that act of tying those apron strings. It probably anchors more than  just the apron. It also must be tying down the ever fleeting mind to focus on the  task at hand.
Its nice to see her grin widen  as we take our seats. Despite repeated requests to join us, she hobbles along to the kitchen and fetches a small steel container. She opens it and quickly places a couple of coconut barfis on our hand with a quaint remark- "You had said last time that you liked these. So I made them specially for you."
This really touches a very soft spot deep inside my heart. The recipe of making this Barfi is tedious and rather complicated. She must have been through the grind and back breaking process just because i like these coconut yummies.
Mrs Manjiri Date, Medhas mother never ceases to fascinate me. She's the archtypical matriarch, who almost ruled with an iron fist, and yet endeared herself to everyone who crossed her path. She has an opinion on almost everything, but also the desire to learn, to evolve, to motor on.
She is extremely deft with her hands and has ventured into embroidery, tailoring, and many other handicrafts.
Quintessentially a mother who took every possible effort to inculcate the highest of academic standards in her daughters, she always made it a point to network with neighbours and friends to the point of having an extended family. Everyone had a special fondness for Manjukaku. Someone whom all could turn to for a quick consultation on matters ranging from mundane domestic strife to larger issues like taking  financial decisions.  Everyone's agony aunt. She would never let you down. She would immerse herself totally in your problem, sometimes worrying about it more than the person himself. Blessed with a very sharp mind, that needs fodder, in the form of concern or then some issue to worry about, her compassion and need  to get involved very funnily spills over into the torment of even the victims of her daily soap opera shows on television. Its really so fascinating to see her animated reactions while watching her favourite Marathi serials. People like her are noble souls who won't even dream of hurting a fly.
They are God fearing, and very religious. I deliberately use that word because rituals like singing Bhajans, or for that matter maintaining the legacy of a family temple, are done with extreme devotion and faith.  The rituals aren't any fetish but only looked up as the legacy of our rich and varied culture. She never let ritual supersede the sentiment and neither ever ridicule it. She was the master of moderation. The picture is taken in the same temple of Ganesh which she visits and serves on every auspicious day. A true guardian of a legacy, a tradition that enriches rather than enslaves.May your tribe increase.

The Puffed Rice Poha paradox

The "Poha" paradox

It's 3.46 am. Deccan Gymkhana. Opposite the PMPML Central Bus Stand.  I've just finished doing an emergency brain surgery. The patient, a 41 year old cop who fell down at home and sustained a bad contusion( bruised and injured brain with motley haemorrhagic areas) that was really causing pressure on the central portions of the brain- the brain stem. 
The surgery went off well barring the routine irritations of having a rather junior scrub nurse who was in awe of assisting a brain surgery. She was a bit dumbstruck by the proceedings, and irked me by her confused state of mind. Anyways I finish my job on hand and after a safe decompression, I ask my junior to do the honours of suturing up the incision.
I have a word with the anxious relatives, groping for equivalent terms  to explain abstruse concepts and  colloquial terminology for the rather unpredictable and idiosyncratic organ and the  equally intangible pathologies that I have to deal with . After attempting to answer all the rational and irrational queries that even touch philosophy, destiny etc,  I look at the watch and its 3.30. I crank up my pickup and head homeward. As I take the first turn , I see this handcart, a very rustic mini foodtruck if you please.  I had a frugal meal the previous night and the hunger  asserts itself by a sudden, audible peristaltic rumbling. I pull the pickup to one side and make my way to the handcart laden with yummy steaming hot "Pohe".
I park myself in a quiet corner after ordering a plate of Pohe. Ther guy very deftly plunges a serving spoon into that heap of golden yellow Pohe garnished with fried peanuts. He scoops out a couple of servings which he fills up in a small plate. He generously sprinkles it with Shev and tells me to help myself to some pungent spicy Sambar that's looking angry red and fuming in a container.
I reach out for a serving of that sambar and  let it trickle gently on the Pohe.  This dish called Pohe has traditionally been the preparation,  served in the "Boy meets girl" episode of arranged matrimony. A rather innocuous looking simple recipe that inveritably sealed the fates of prospective brides and grooms. I shovel a heaped spoonfull of pohe marinated in that insanely spiced curry into my mouth and the taste buds explode with culinary ecstasy. As I'm indulging in shameless gluttony, my gastronomic lust is rudely intruded by a rather irritating query from a newly arrived 25 something guy. " Sir do you eat at this place regularly?" I turn to look at him in the pitch black darkness of the wee morning hours. And to my chagrin, it's the relative of the patient whom I had just operated.
I feel very uncomfortable and embarrassed as my mouth was almost in a transcendental state and I hurriedly gulped down the partially ruminated Pohe.  I think seeing me, the divine " Saviour" of his brother in a very modest human form,  eating street food just as the rickshaw driver standing next to me was a paradox. I was a far cry from the high flying blue collared professional Neurosurgeon. I decided to make the most of the situation and earn a few brownie points for myself and my noble profession.
 I tell him rather apologetically, that I had not had proper dinner and the surgery had really made my hunger uncontrollable. I try in vain to restore some divinity to this rather banal and mundane indulgence.
Actually,  I'm as much or probably much more vulnerable and anxious than he was since I had no one to ask questions and had to only provide answers.
Answers and accountability to every question hurled at me by the relatives. As he orders a cup of tea and looks hungrily at the dish of  Pohe being served to him, I start back towards my pickup throwing a last glance at the heap of Pohe. A dish that forges alliances, dispels hunger, and above all levels all hierarchies.

Potentiation by dilution

A really thought provoking article.

Potentiating by Diluting.

My temper had bestowed me notoriety. It had become the defining trait of my gregarious and rather overbearing disposition. Initially I took great pride in being able to intimidate and almost terrorise my subordinates. The anger would cascade as the object of my rage looked on helplessly. My ego would lust for that overwhelming sense of power, a sadistic joy  of  trampling all over the self esteem of the person at the receiving end. Such acts were in reality sado-masochistic as i realised later in life. Masochistic because such vulgar and unbridled display of negative vibes travelled inwards as well. Such acts resulted in flooding the circulation with adrenaline and similar neuro-endocrine mediators causing increased heart rates, increase Blood pressure. There was also  a feeling akin to a hangover after the the dressing down session had concluded. The work atmosphere remained vitiated for a few hours as other staff members worked in an uneasy silence. The frequency of such episodes kept increasing and after a while, the staff realized that they had to put up with  momentary lapses of reason. They developed a kind of resistance to this emotional extravaganza. The entire objective of such a brazen and unpleasant display was soon lost. And along with it I ended up losing important staff members too. The ineffectiveness of any therapeutic medication over a period of time is called Tachphylaxis. Its similar to development of resistant strains of bacteria due to the abuse of anti- biotics. There surely had to be a saner, more effective means to express displeasure without causing any collateral damage.
        I  reminisced about how petrified i was of my father as a child. He scarcely would raise his voice when he was upset. The appearance of a wrinkle on his forehead was enough of a cue to all of us in the family. Degree of anger was never subservient to a decibel system. Silence and facial lines very subtly but effectively conveyed their displeasure. An occasional expletive was the sole indicator of  extreme rage. The silent akinetic state kept us guessing and imagining all the possible outcomes. The dose of expressing their resentment was far too diluted. It was paradoxically much more effective than the rather generous dose that I administered to my subordinates. It reminded me of a very perplexing principle of Homeopathy. The basic principle of homeopathy is that a substance that triggers a certain disease can also be used to treat that disease, and diluting the substance increases its potency – a process referred to as potentization or succussion.
Dilution quite paradoxically increases the potency of the drug that is administered.
My mother's very subtle act of adjusting my blanket believing i was fast asleep made my young mind more acutely aware of her tender loving care than the priciest gift that i give my child. Frugality was the order of the day. Frugal means, frugal lifestyles, frugal expressions and frugal desires. The doses for any gratification were fractions of doses required in our present day ostentatious life. Yet the therapeutic effect on the degree of happiness was much greater. Dilution of indulgence was certainly increasing the potency of satisfaction. Dilution almost certainly eliminated the possibility of developing any form of tachyphylaxis. The lower frequency of eating in restaurants certainly ensured sustaining the degree of enjoyment. Indulgence is never the path to contentment. Contentment is a state of mind that empowers it to find happiness in temperance.
The  potency and efficacy of expression of any  emotion might lie in its subtlety. The next provocation saw me merely raising my eyebrows. My assistant scurried for cover, possibly in anticipation of my regular normal animated response. Or perhaps dilution actually potentiated my anger.

Dr. Deepak Ranade

Water inside the boat

Water for thought

The water inside the boat.

The Titanic  one of the largest man made cruise ships of the time capsized. A very tragic event that resulted in loss of hundreds of lives and dented the quest of man's suzeranity over the elements. A colossal vessel that glided over the oceans was consumed by the very waters that she navigated.
People's perceptions, opinions, and judgements are also like the waters of the ocean that each person has to deal with. They offer a resistance very similar to the waters of the sea. The motivation, self belief and confidence are the locomotive forces that power ones journey across this vast expanse. The waters also provide a buoyancy to this vessel quantified by the famous Archimedes  principle.
Archimedes discovered  that the upward buoyant force that is exerted on a body immersed in a fluid, whether fully or partially submerged, is equal to the weight of the fluid that the body displaces and acts in the upward direction at the center of mass of the displaced fluid.
Buoyancy is analogous to ones own self belief and self confidence. It is generated by and proportionate to displacing or disregarding others opinions. The greater the strength of one's own convictions and confidence, the greater is the upward force that facilitates navigating this journey of Life. 
The vessel is made impervious to the waters it navigates. Therein lies it's integrity and it's survival.
For some reason, if the waters do breach this integrity, they soon start flooding the interiors of the vessel and irrespective of the size, the powerful engines, the  vessel is doomed.
Undue importance attributed to others opinions renders the vessel of our individuality to high degrees of vulnerability.
One has the choice of deploying these opinions and responses to increase buoyancy by strictly restricting them to the outside.  These waters till they remain outside can very effectively be used to steer the vessel too.  If they breach the boundaries of self respect and find their way inside, they sooner than later will prove to be the nemesis of the Self.
Material wealth, fame and fortune have a similar effect. Till they are unable to invade the integrity of the Self till they remain an Epi phenomenon. When they invade the Self and flood the power of discriminating intellect, they soon capsize the Self.
Navigating the journey of Life successfully and uneventful entails the ability to keep the waters of perceptions of others, material acquisitions, fame success outside the Self. This requires a coating of the water resistant chemical- Humility.
A generous coat of humility, and a deep realisation that all these attributes are momentary and not entirely Self generated certainly protects the Self from these waters that are benedictory till they are outside but transform into annihilation once they find their way inside.

Dr Deepak Ranade

Epitaph of an era

The epitaph of an era

The abrupt and sudden demise of Sridevi Boney Kapoor plunged an entire nation into inconsolable grief and angst. A born actress, who sashayed almost every conceivable role, from the tender age of 4. An artiste whose histrionics, subtle seductive demeanour, and graceful dancing, captured the imagination of all sections, ages and classes of society made an exit from this world that almost superimposed the real with the reel.
A nation with a celluloid obsession went overboard with speculations, conspiracy theorists had a field day, media was on overdrive to spike up the TRPs.
     The sheer efforts, hard work, dedication, application, discipline and prodigious talent never found any mention amidst this hysteria.
Sridevis unfortunate end actually was the end of an era.  An era that was ushered in by this very reticent, underrated young actress who forced everyone to take notice of her by her sheer talent and ability to connect with all segments of the audience.
Sridevi Kapoor (born Shree Amma Yanger Ayyapan; 13 August 1963 – 24 February 2018), mononymously known as Sridevi,  starred in Tamil, Telugu, Hindi, Malayalam, and Kannada films. She went on to become Hindi cinema's first "female superstar" not a mean feat  in a largely male dominated industry.
 After a string of commercial hits she excelled herself in Sadma released in 1983. This pièce de résistance
brought Sridevi critical acclaim. This film was a remake of her Tamil film Moondram Pirai and is included in the list of '10 Must Watch Movies. Her histrionic abilities brought a smile on the lips and a tear in the eyes simultaneously.
She had the equanimity to take a break of 8 years from the glitz and  glamour of stardom to do full justice to raising a family. This tectonic shift was effected without any trace of doubt ot remorse. The ability to wipe off the paint and mascara to settle into a totally self effacing life of domestic anonymity requires the greatest of strength and conviction. Sridevi played this role to perfection without any audience, awards or acclaim.
Her comeback vehicle saw her reinvent herself playing the role of a shy, middle aged housewife.
The Times of India called it "easily one of the best films of 2012" and Sridevi's performance "a masterclass for actors."
Sridevi next made her mark in her home production titled Mom (2017). It was a milestone of sorts being  her 300th film.It sent the  critics praising Sridevi's performance, and was hailed by one and all.
It established her as the high-priestess of Indian cinema.
Her rather tragic end raised a storm of controversies and conjectures but it was largely because her end signified the end of an era. The end of a breed of thorough bred actresses, who effortlessly slipped in and  out of a plethora of roles, both on and off the screen.

Reality of Life

A slice of Life.
I was making a quick trip to pick up some cheese and  bread from the nearby kiosk. It was about 5 pm and was sweltering hot.  To my disappointment, the kiosk was out of stock. I was cursing under my breath as I started a longer trip to the departmental store about 2 blocks further down. I was a trifle annoyed for having to make this extended sojourn. I was just pacing a bit  inattentively rueing on the perils of domestic chores when  I suddenly banged my head against a hard object. I was a bit dazed and as I regained my countenance, I realised I had struck my forehead against the end of a small log of wood being carried by a lady on her head. I just couldn't see the log end on which caused this accidental impact. She was actually thrilled at the windfall that she had on finding this log of wood. This would serve as firewood for a couple of days.
I swore a few expletives to the lady who looked very apologetic and she immediately enquired about how bad was the pain.  My eyes were shut so I couldn't see her clearly.  She had in the meantime unloaded her heavy cargo as also grounded a blue coloured bag that probably contained her empty lunch box.  She reached out to check the bruise on my forehead. I had to really make an effort to keep my expletives just within the range of inaudibility. The bruise was hurting.
I gathered myself and as I regained my balance and composure, I expressed my displeasure to the lady for carrying such an unwieldy  cargo on her head which had proved to be dangerous.
  She said she was ferrying this load to serve as firewood to cook and provide hot water to her kids . She worked as a domestic help and walked from her home to work and back, a distance of about 6 kms one way. 
My anger metamorphosed into compassion for her plight and sheer hard work that she had to do just to put a meal on the table. Her husband was a contract labourer and between them they supported a family of 7.
She realised that I was not doing too bad.  She suggested that I should rather have a cold drink as she quickly piled up her cargo on her head and hurried home to her waiting kids for whom she had to cook. Resume her life, rather a struggle, to stay afloat to make ends meet. The plight of a vast majority in this land of  billion plus. 
A life that is almost oblivious to any indulgences, a life of untold hardship and travails. I walk out of the shop with my supplies and a very profound deliberation  about what motivates such souls to live another day, that's only going to dawn with a new set of insurmountable problems, serious doubts about the next square meal, and an endless thankless struggle. 
As I cast a look to trace that fast receding figure disappearing into the crowds, I realise that my bruise had stopped hurting. Thoughts about her pain and struggle serving as the most potent analgesic.

Dr Deepak Ranade

Pulling away from the pack

Pulling Away From The Pack

I casually sent a message to my  classmate, a true blue old friend during my short stay in New York. I knew my friend stayed in the vicinity,probably about an hours drive from where I was parked.
He promptly replied and gave me the directions to get to his abode. I take the New York  metro from Penn Station and after a 50 minute ride, I reach Edison. I get off along with my wife and sure enough, I see my Dear friend Eddy waiting for me at the exit. We hug each other and after the formal introductions( he was meeting my wife for the first time) we get into his car. A 10 minute drive and we reach his beautiful cosy home, tucked away in paradise. We are  given a very warm welcome by his wife and we soon settle down in his living room.
I knew Eddy since school days. He was a very "connected" sort of a guy, did the right things, was Spiritual, good in sports, a quintessential
" Good Boy " types. 
He was a very good athlete and ran the 400 meters which was his forte. It required strategy, stamina and timing to know the precise moment of pulling away from the pack.
We did catch up in the interim , at school get togethers and reunions but those interactions were very short and perfunctory.
We had a lot of time today and it gave me an opportunity to get to know Eddy and his story in greater detail. Every person has a script of life that's so unique and fascinating. Eddy's was too. In fact much more fascinating and adventurous than I could have imagined.
 I knew he was a PHD in Biotechnology from Pune University. Thereafter he was working in Pune and then I got to know after a couple of years that he had shifted to the United States.
As Eddy embarked on his story, I noticed he was a trifle emotional. His eyes had a hint of moisture, and yet had a subtle glint.
  He decided to exit his comfort zone whilst doing a job in Pune. It was more an effort to do greater justice to his abilities as also provide a better lot to his family.
 He took off to Australia. A leap of faith. I guess because of his deep religious disposition, his faith, and of course his self confidence, he took the leap. With a young wife and 2 kids to support, it was more an act of bravado. An impulsive decision. It was not easy  Down Under.
While waiting for his first break, he utilized his culinary skills at his Sister’s restaurant and appreciated the hard work that occurs at the back-end of these wonderful food houses. Three month into a new system, he got his first appropriate break in Melbourne.
Then, after almost 2 years he got the lucky break. Out of the blue, a highly placed visiting Healthcare dignitary from the United States got in touch with Eddy with whom he had interacted with back in Pune.
 A second leap of faith. This time landing in the Big Apple with 9 suitcases and 2 kids. This time his faith was vindicated and he slowly found his niche. He worked his way and proved his mettle. There he sat in front of me. A hugely successful guy now holding a senior position, living the American Dream in the true sense. What a journey. What a story. In the course of our conversation, he hands out bits of advice. Nuggets of gold.
Never go full throttle in responding to anything in life. Run at your own pace. Know your limitations as well as your strengths.  His words lingered  in my ears like the taste of a dessert which lingers on long after it's polished off.
Eddy the sprinter in school who knew exactly when to pull away from the pack, had done the same in life. I saw the same  exultation and breathless joy in his eyes today, just as he breasted the winning tape in the 400 meters event during school days.

Fiction- The Gift

I'm venturing into a new genre of short stories. Hope my friends and readers will like my effort and I also would appreciate their opinions and suggestions.

The Gift

It was really such a relief. To get out of a stifling, claustrophobic relationship. It was almost like being married to a stalker.
Life was just an unending saga of accountabiity, answerability and living to another's expectations and orders. " Where are you going"?  What time will you be back? Don't wear this dress. The breakfast was too bland." A never ending tirade of questions, criticisms and instructions.   She never got a moment to do anything just for her own pleasure. Her day was a grind, ceaseless activities of domestic chores, looking after the son's studies, tending the garden and ......... the list was endless. At the end of the day, her fatigued body was almost ready to drop down. She would fall asleep, the moment she hit the bed. She could never get to see her favourite soap on telly, partly because she didn't have the time and the energy and more because her husband was glued to the super bowl or then the football. In some ways, it provided her some respite from his autocratic and  dictatorial regime.
She never got any time or the liberty to visit her brother who lived about 200 miles away. There was the occasional connect with him on the phone and that too was a perfunctory exchange of formalities. He was not doing too well and had his own trials and tribulations to deal with. Blood was probably just a shade more viscous and the viscosity was fast decreasing to the point of evaporating.  She knew she could never really expect much out of her sibling ever since her childhood. Her brother though elder to her was almost  autistic. She had resigned to the realisation that he was more a liability than any asset. The only consolation she took was from the fact that ever since her marriage, he never asked her for  financial or any other form of assistance.
It was well over two decades since the sentencing that was euphemistically called as wedding.
Her son had recently  joined a graduate program and moved to a small apartment in an adjacent town. He insisted that she moved with him. He convinced his father that it was important for his mother to be with him.  His father was of late seeped into alcohol and was scarcely conscious by the end of the day. He ate a measly meal of a sandwich or a burger and his obese form and poor hearth had snuffed out  all other needs.
  The mother and son moved into the teeny apartment and the very next day, she took the strings in her hands. The chores were essentially the same but there was a sense of liberation as she cleaned up the cupboards and set up the kitchen.
She was in her own zone after nearly 23 years. 
She cooked the first meal in the new house and it had an aroma of love, the warmth of her care and  garnishing of her affections.  She quickly laid the table and  waited for her son.
It was very cold outside and her son arrived a bit late after picking up some blankets and warm clothes.
He quickly removed his shoes, had a quick wash and changed.
As he walked into the room, he gave a neatly wrapped gift to his mother. She was rather taken aback by his gesture and her eyes softened.
She gave him a warm hug and picked up her gift. She was all excited and her eyes were full of glee. As she unwrapped the gift, a tear dropped on to the pink wrapping paper and smudged the freshly inked "Love you mom"
It was a small cubical box. She was wondering how could her son afford to buy her a gift with his meagre allowance. She was so overcome with emotions and her trembling fingers opened the box.
She was visibly disappointed and equally puzzled to see it empty.
She asked her son the meaning of this gift that was just an empty box.
His answer made her break down.
He said " Mom I've seen you living such a restricted, cramped up life right since my childhood. You never could live your life that was almost an exercise in altruistic masochism. You never had the time or the space for yourself. This box that you feel is empty  actually contains the most priceless gift that I can give you. In fact the best gifts are the most subtle and intangible. The Gift of  Space, space for you to be yourself. Space that doesn't ask questions, nor demands answers. Space to breathe fresh air.  Space to grow and discover your self.

A new kind of slavery

As we sailed past the Towering Statue of Liberty, a monument that symbolises emancipation of mankind's tryst with inequality and exploitation,  I recollect the historical amendment 13 of the constitution that abolished all forms of slavery.
            Passed by Congress on January 31, 1865, and ratified on December 6, 1865, the 13th amendment abolished slavery in the United States and provides that "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.".
A very noble and humanitarian bit of legislation that truly  bears testimony to the evolution of man.
        As I tour the financial district in downtown Manhattan, ( the name Manhattan comes from the Munsi language of the Lenni Lenape meaning island of many hills)  this place houses the head offices of all major banking institutions, consulting houses and all the razzmatazz of corporate life, I can perceive a distinct ambience of extravagance and opulence that adorns every nook and corner of this city of glistening Skyscrapers. The streets of Manhattan downtown are paved in gold.  The area teems with a culture of affluent indulgence that's so obviously palpable. High rise offices that are like shining, polished anthills, breeding a generation of worker ants. Workers, striving hard to earn more and climb higher in a never ending  struggle where only winners are survivors.    These tall scrapers symbolise a materialistic hegemony.  The highly qualified, intelligent executives  who are in fact sophisticated white collared mercenaries who transform  corporate offices into war rooms. They indulge in   dominance and subjugation by flexing their  finacial muscle. This corporate warfare consumes these executives and demands extreme resilience and ruthless pursuit of targets and objectives. Beneath all the sophistication lurks a very raw and primitive killer instinct. Wolves of the Wall street, wearing sheepskins of etiquette, courtesies, donning immaculately tailored Armanis.
The unofficial financial capital of the world throbs with fiscal pulsations, seeped in  a never ending lust for more.  This land and this corporate culture appears to be gripped in a mutated  form of slavery. A slavery that beckons to become the master.  A new world order where slavery is not a phenomenon of one controlling another, but slavery of the self by the self. A slavery effected by the shackles of greed and gratification. A slavery that uses the unseen whip of hedonism. A slavery that the founding fathers could never have imagined.
The positive side of this obsessive desire for more certainly triggers ingenuity, creativity, hard work, persistence and determination.  Some of the most important technological inventions and innovations are the outcome of this new age philosophy of  'More". To rephrase the cliched aphorism- Greed is the mother of invention, creativity and innovation become survival skills of this perform or perish environment.
Gratification and indulgence are indeed pleasurable, but surely cannot be the purpose of existence.  As I see a swanky sedan pass by with a dignified elegance, I utter a silent prayer for my affluent bothers. I pray to the Lord to redeem these lovely souls from this slavery. A liberation from abject indulgence and lethal ambition. A liberation from the compulsions of aggression and intimidation. Liberation from this dog eat dog psyche that breeds and simmers as competitive hostility and intimidation.  I do hope that my next visit might provide me a glimpse of a different  statue of Liberty. A statue that wields the torch of enlightenment, a statue that liberates the self from self imposed compulsions and obsessions and emancipates mankind from the curse of affluent  arrogance  competition and subjugation.

Tikona A lovely climb

I start early. At 5.45 am.
Drive 45 kms to the foothills of Tikona. I park my vehicle and start trudging upwards on the path that weaves its way upwards. The Sun just rising as it warms the crisp morning air. Climbing hills alone,  lends a touch of sanctity, not just to the  physical  but also emotional space. Falling short of breath does not cause too much concern and rewards by providing the joy of gaining height. The terrain is a mixed bag of moraine, skree, mud and rocks. Need to be careful when placing each step.   Being alone comes with the statutory warning-
You are responsible for each step and  have no one to give you a hand in case of any unforeseen event.
The path twists and turns providing different perspectives of the plains as also the fort that looms overhead.  As I'm climbing, I am thinking  about how changing perspectives is so important in  life too. As we move on, travel higher and further, paths that seemed almost impossible to navigate start revealing their accessibility. The crux lies in trudging on with persistence and resilience.
Soon I come across a beautiful stone engraving of Lord Hanuman. There is some space behind this monolithic structure.
I was almost expecting Veeru to be standing behind with that inimitable "Bhopu".
My climb eases out a bit but this respite is too transient. I see an almost vertical flight of steps carved into the huge  rock edifice. 
As I start ascending, I just marvel at the thought of how even the most intimidating massif can be tamed by sculpting out a few inches of the stone just enough to place a foot. I am reminded of doing the same to some of the most hostile and menacing events in the past. Insurmountable odds can be scaled with patience and skill to carve out footholds. Some obstacles can't be destroyed. They just need skillful navigating to climb over and move on.
The vertical stairs get me to a small plateau where I catch my breath and my determination.  At a distance, I can see the  saffron flag that's the pinnacle. But I must first climb a very narrow crest that winds up towards the flag. The last 600 meters really gets a bit strenuous. The sight of the destination however spurs me on and after a small halt, I cover the last 200 meters.
The joy and exultation of reaching the summit is so invigorating. I grab that pole that hoists the saffron flag. This flag was beckoning me every time I saw it from my farm house. I had planned so often to climb this fort and each time, it just didn't materialise.
I begin my descent after enjoying the fresh breeze and the spectacular views.
Descent again reminds me of the rather steep terrain that I climbed.  Climbing was   tiring but fraught with lesser risks. Treks reveal very subtle philosophies of life.
Descending  was easier but requires greater control and restrain.
After a short drive, I'm soon with the love of my life.  God Particle and Marshal.

Probing the inner depths

Exploring depths

The water looked inviting. Was shimmering in the early morning sun. As I wade into the water, I'm greeted by the cold water and I step on the unseen pebbles and prominences that aren't visible to the eye.
I continue to wade deeper into the water as I'm struck by an oncoming wave. It's just a gentle push but makes me aware of my vulnerability. I take the opportunity to submerge completely and  as the water embraces my torso, my body shivers a bit due to the rather sudden exposure to a lower temperature.
Once my body is accustomed to this temperature, I really get comfortable and let the water traverse freely all over. Then as I emerge from the water, the reverse phenomenon occurs. The moment I'm out of the water, I'm exposed to the elements and I start shivering again.
As I brace myself for the scuba dive, I'm filled with even greater trepidation. Never done this before and the rather unphysiological means of  deliberately breathing from the mouth makes this whole encounter all the more intimidating.
The oxygen cylinder  with the pipes and all the paraphernalia is strapped on. Despite my rather prosperous disposition, I'm made heavier by about 10 kgs dead weight.  To facilitate my downward journey.
The water does not permit any access to its depths. It's a bluish green that doesn't let light trespass or intrude it's privacy. I bite the mouth piece of the Scuba gear and
gently go  under consciously making that  effort to breathe with my mouth. I'm warned against breathing through my nose. If I were to use my nose to breathe, it would just  draw the mask tighter to clasp my face due to the negative pressure. The only sound is of the bubbles that escape with each exhalation. The depths of the water has a mysterious stillness. There is also the unmistakable sound of silence. My  existence mutates from the conventional awareness of my body to just a bubble  of consciousness with the same overpowering desire to rise to the surface.
I soon get the hang of this new mode of ventilating my lungs. Once this confidence sets in, I venture deeper and soon my efforts are rewarded with some incredible colours.  A shoal of small blue and white fish hurry across and disappear as suddenly as they appeared.  I keep my eyes wide open hoping to absorb as much of this spectacular aquatic universe. 
My search is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a grey blue larger fish with graceful swaying movements of its dorsal fins. It was in no hurry and was gliding so majestically. It seemed to come towards me and then in a flash, with a swift twist  of its tall made a 90 degree turn and  was gone.  I soon realised that I was now almost on the ocean floor. The sea weeds were swaying and it making  me  aware of the underwater ocean currents. There were   rounded boulders and rocks that provided refuge to the smaller aquatic creatures from predators.
My ear drums were getting stretched  and taut buckling inwards thanks to the increased hydrostatic pressure.
I was at a depth of about 20 feet.
I continued gliding almost weightlessly for the next 10 minutes. It was a lifetime experience.
As I surfaced, I realised  exploring the depths of water was as tedious and painstaking as exploring the depths of close friends. The deeper I go the greater is the revelation.

Father's Day

Fathers Day.
In 1972, President Richard Nixon signed a law declaring that Father’s Day be celebrated annually on the third Sunday in June. It has been an official, permanent national holiday ever since.
            My son texted me Happy Fathers Day on this 19th June. What images does the mind conjure when it comes across this word? Father in heaven? Father, the XY chromosome? Father, the bread winner?
             To me,  the term Father was and will remain a larger than life, charismatic, inimitable, masculine force. A force  that liberates. A love that doesn't degenerate to an emotional transaction. A love that never binds but still connects. An implicit love that is never held hostage by  the need for any overtly ritualistic expression. A love that brings a smile on the lips.  A thread that weaves an invisible expansile cocoon of protective benevolence. An energy that intoxicates, a vitality that overflows, a positivity that's infectious.An  endless gumption for life, an insatiable quest for progress, an unending childlike curiosity, an indomitable spirit. A principle that embodied the  generosity of Karna, the wisdom of Krishna,  the humility of Arjuna and the  wrath of Shiva. A nobility that touches a chord deep within, a  selfless magnanimity,a heart warming equanimity.  A laughter with the fragrance of masculinity, tenderness that would shame a mother, trust and faith in me, that would make the Creator envious. A touch that comforts, a word that lifts the morale, a smile that cheers, a hug that vanquishes fears. A freshness that rejuvenates, an energy that's boundless, an enthusiasm that's infectious, a sensitivity that's sublimely intuitive.  An honesty that endears, a body that never tires, a celebration that never ends, an arm that forever fends. A joy that needs no reason, light that never fades, a warmth that perpetually radiates. A benediction that never fails, a transience that's eternal, an indulgence that's  truly paternal.A friend who shares, a mate who cares. A soul that's immortal.
Dad you are a father like none another.

Alchemy called Amtee

An Alchemy called Amtee.

She now hobbles. My mother in law, Manjiri Date. The aching joints and kyphotic spine have diminished  her speed and agility. Her eyes still testimony to the disharmony between her chronological age and her enthusiasm. She nonetheles still rules the roost, her frail demeanour notwithstanding.  Always in charge of the situation, and still retaining the razor sharp mental faculties. An innately restless soul, her frail exterior still packs a punch when it comes to house keeping or attending to guests.
She was never the types to deck up or drape herself  in any extravagant attire. She would wear a crisp, pastel, cotton saree, a small beacon of vermilion,  and just a hint of talcum powder. Groomed in an era,  where beauty or life at large swayed  in simplicity, never subservient to any ostentatious cosmetic enhancement.  Her kitchen would always be spotless clean, everything in its place and a place for everything.
     They both lived a very simple, frugal,  uncomplicated life untouched by lust for luxuries of  creature comfort.  Her  routine was keeping herself busy with mundane domestic chores. Her major preoccupation other than animatedly participating in the Television serials, was worrying. This activity never really required a legitimate cause. It could even be the running nose of the domestic help's 2 year old toddler, or then the fast approaching unit test of her grandson. Worrying was her second nature,  an indulgence that she just couldn't abstain from. She had taken 'worrying' to entirely another level,  raised it to almost  an art form. The other activity that she really excelled was cooking. She was a highly accomplished cook, blessed with that special touch. A sublime touch that transformed culinary skills to an unfathomable alchemy. This touch was most obvious when she cooked the ubiquitous dal- called 'Amtee'in colloquial marathi.
This Amtee and rice is the staple food of most Brahmin households. Cooking this Amtee, made of lentils, is the litmus test of the culinary skills of the lady of the house. It was almost wielded as a weapon of torment by the mothers in law, to grill and test the grooming of the newly wed daughter in law.
  It is a simple curry,  and yet made complex by garnishing with a wide variety of home made spices, herbs, coconut shavings, and of course the trademark Ghee. The most unique feature of this Dal, is the mysterious tweak in the taste, effected at the  appropriate moment rendering it utterly delectable.  All families carry this unique legacy, handed over as a culinary heirloom, a trade secret that imparts a touch of divinity to this simple, mundane curry. The perfect concoction  is not too spicy, has a hint of sour, a touch of tanginess, a subtle sweetness imbibed by  milligrams of  prefect amount of jaggery and most importantly  a consistency that homogenises the lentils to a perfect viscosity. A viscosity that ensures a conjugal union with the steaming rice. The nostrils saturate with that irresistible aroma,  titillate the taste buds almost wrenching and emptying the salivary glands.
The perfectly blended mouthful of Amtee-bhaat drives the taste buds to ecstasy. They first explode in delight, delirious with pleasure. Then they become meditative and enter a state of bliss,as the combined effects of the individual ingredients effect a gastronomic symphony. The ruminated remains, caressed by the papillae of the tongue finally ease down the gullet, not before leaving an after taste, that begs for the next mouthful. Indulgence at its best. The rice and dal are caressed together and harmonized gently, to ready the next missile, which detonates the oral cavity. Watching another, engaging in this self indulgence justifies the small prayer chanted just prior to a meal.
 This prayer recited just before embarking on a meal refers to food as Brahma- the ultimate truth.( Anna he poorna Brahma). This truth is revealed every time I am blessed to have a meal of Amtee Bhaat cooked by this octagenraian. As I wash my hands, i mentally rephrase the cliched statement-
" The way to a man's salvation is through his taste buds.".

Deaddiction- A mind game

I realised my notoriety when I was respected by people more for what I have stopped doing rather than what I am doing.
It's been about 17 years since I quit smoking and about 7 years since I quit any form of alcohol. Not a drop. I have now graduated to the level of a Consultant in the domain of " Kicking the Vice"
I did not realise how difficult it really is to quit till I connected with a few who were wrestling with their vices. They were pinned down by their cravings, rendered helpless by a chemical that had weaved such an unbreachable web.
I'm asked about alternatives, like nicotine patches, any pharmaceutical preparations, psychological counselling or the role of  any spiritual master or Guru.
It got me thinking about what happened in my case. I still recollect that day. It was Ganesh Chaturthi and I was driving down from Mumbai to Pune. The weather was lovely,  I had bought a pack of 10 cigarettes early morning as I left Mumbai. I had my regular early morning Cigarette with my  cup of tea, and then two more till I reached the Ghat section. As I was driving up,  I was filled with an overwhelming disgust and anger towards myself as I lit the next cigarette. I was totally powerless, and had totally  surrendered  to this habit. The voices of my  self esteem,  ego, power of discrimination, my instinct of self preservation were all muted. It was an  instantaneous flash that made me roll down the window and chuck the cigarette out. I just threw out the cigarette, and along with it,  my helplessness, my apprehensions and my vulnerability. I was the Boss, and the Vice was my servant. Not the other way around. The remaining 5 cigarettes languished in the glove compartment for the next 3 months.
I did not want to quit by the " keep out of reach" principle. This remedy is for toddlers and  children, when we keep fragile or dangerous objects out of reach from them. The access to my vice was at my beck and call. But I chose not to indulge. It empowered me like nothing else. I dominated, controlled and treated that packet contemptuously.  The same packet that made me totally helpless, now was at my mercy. I could sense it's frustration and desperation. My stoic attitude and resolve never let me fall prey to its seduction. I never had any withdrawal symptoms. I was  much more cheerful,  after vanquishing the torturous, sadistic and enticing ways of the mind.
                 Alcohol was another demon that needed to be slayed once in for all. It's exactly 7 years ago on this day that I  beheaded that ghoul. It was probably a bit more difficult.  The desire to down a couple of pegs was really tough to control,   specially when it's an evening with friends who are reminiscing about the past, the mood is all about having a great time, and the spirits are free flowing. I used to take a dark coloured drink like a coke and tell my friends it's Rum and Coke. It would keep most of them at bay.  Initially when  those who knew me got to hear about my kicking the habit, they dismissed it off as just a passing phase that might last for a week or two at the most. Each passing day,  occasion and party that I abstained, made my resolve stronger. Life  itself gives so many  reasons to get a high. There is a lot of talk about women empowerment. Kicking the Vice is true Mans Empowerment. It really makes me stand tall, it has in no way diminished my ability to enjoy life, I'm still quite often  the Life of a party, and slowly,  I've become the object of envy by the same people who had slandered me, bad mouthed me and spread concocted stories about me. I feel extremely proud of the fact that I might be the only teetotaller in my Surgery Fraternity. I realise the value of me resolve, every time I wash up and operate on this very organ that empowers, or weakens. It is not a question of Mind over Matter. It's the power that transcends both.    It is ones ability to respect oneself. The determination to rise in ones own eyes.

The ancestral deity

The Ancestral Deity.

Most Hindu families inherit a family specific deity, - the 'Kula Daivat' as part of family legacy. 'Kula' roughly translates as lineage. This family specific deity is often paid homage annually at least and perhaps, more often depending on circumstances. These deities are like guardian angels, that have been worshipped by the  forefathers for many generations. My father was not particularly religious or orthodox and I was never indoctrinated into observing any ritualis, or visiting our Kula-daivat, which was Vyaaghreshwar. A temple of Lord Shiva, located near Dapoli, a small town in Konkan. Konkan region is naturally endowed with beaches, mango plantations, paddy fields,  quaint little villages with homes built from locally mined red laterite. It has a rustic charm. The dwellers have a modest, simple lifestyle that has the fragrance of frugality.  Their nature and the terrain have  an uncanny resemblance. Arid in most parts, large tracts of igneous hard rock making it extremely undulating and uneven.The local residents are extremely inquisitive, a shade trite almost bordering on being arrogant, extremely ritualistic and religious, yet quite lovable.
      I set out on the weekend, with my destination not fixed. The objective being to soak the monsoon weather and lech at the luscious green mountains. The Sahyadris are a blessing for us Puneites. So we set off and soon find ourselves in the scrumptious hills of the Varandh Ghat that connects the plains of the Deccan Plateau with Mahad, which is in Konkan. We are soon in the clouds and the atmosphere is absolutely surreal.
            We make an impromptu decision to go to Dapoli, which is blessed with many small coastal villages and beaches. As we are driving,  I come across the village  of Asud. It strikes a bell.  It's in the vicinity of Vyaghreshwar, which happens to be our family deity- Kula daivat.
I  get a feeling that this trip was pre-ordained. It was a beckoning by the family deity to pay a visit.
And so, after a nights rest, we set off to visit the Lord.
Enroute, we are informed, there is a Keshav Raj temple that is very beautiful. I park the car and we set off down a small winding path that led to a village. After getting the directions from locals, we start the walk towards this temple. We soon come across a beautiful stone bridge, that spans a small river. We cross the bridge and then climb a flight of 200 steps. We eventually reach the temple. It's a divine sight. A small stone temple, cosily tucked in the womb of the hills. The sanctity is palpable. There's a stillness, a silence, that calms the mind. I fold my hands in obeisance and soak up the sacred energy.
As I'm savouring the moment,  I spot this person, who was climbing down from steps that were going up into the higher reaches of the hill. He quietly walks into the temple and starts cleaning the area. I watch him as he goes about his task solemnly. After a few moments, I walk up to him and engage into a conversation.
He has been doing the job of cleaning this place for the past 20 years. Not a single holiday. I ask him if he is employed by the temple authorities. He tells me that he does it voluntarily. I'm quite intrigued. He is an uneducated person in his early 50s. He works as a farm hand for a living.
My curiosity can't be controlled. I ask him "You must have received some divine help from this Deity" That was the only plausible explanation of  his self imposed servitude. His reply really left me speechless.
He said,  " I am blessed with all that I need to live a life of dignity. There has been no illness, no strife, no major catastrophe. My son is self employed, my 2 daughters are happily married and settled. The blessing of the Lord is that he never put me in any  predicament, that mandated solicitation of  his intervention. I am content with my lot, and never  ask the Lord for anything."
My mind stopped ticking for a while. His answer was a revelation. Devotion to any God is largely based on fulfilling desires, asking for divine intervention in highly stressful mitigating circumstances, or at best, a very sincere appeal to not spoil the party of Life.  Devotion, that's founded on gratitude and contentment is almost unheard of.
As I get ready to return, I realise the Deity manifested himself in the form of this simpleton who taught me the most profound principle of happiness.
Contentment and Gratitude. A simple being who professed and taught, the art of 'Being'. A being who exorcised the Being from the Satan of becoming.
God does not reside only in the form. He extends far beyond, formless as a virtue. As formless as the Now. The Now with no regrets of the past, nor apprehensions of the future. The Now, that's total contentment. The Now that's remains equanimous. The Now that doesn't split the Self in a schizophrenic dichotomy of 'what it was' and what 'it wants to be'. The pristine  Now, that is not fragmented into shards by impact of Time. The Now that is eternity.

Maverick and the Bourgeois

The Maverick and the Bourgeois.

It's been stressful. To be born and brought up in a very conformist, bourgeois environment and being judged and evaluated by the high priests of rectitude. Being free spirited and cavalier is a double edged attribute. It provides the gumption for living life at ones own terms, but inevitably elicits knotted eye brows, criticism and in extreme cases, being accused of heresy. I was in fact accused  of moral turpitude, bordering on treason, attempting to overthrow the sovereignty of conformist ideology.
I was in all fairness, a rebel with a cause. The cause of living life in the moment. A life that never planned, strategised, manipulated or sought refuge in a herd. I never sought recourse in the security  of numbers, nor in travelling the beaten path.
   The present is always invaded by the scourge of anxieties and apprehensions of the future. It's also eternally depraved of acceptance, appreciation and acknowledgement. This depravity haunts the psyche relentlessly. It also kills the  spontaneity of following the call of the heart. To do something merely because it gives the self an intrinsic joy, is considered heresy if it is not within the narrow bandwidth of conformism. A life spent in jostling to rise in the ranks of social hierarchy becomes a source of immeasurable stress.  The realisation, that stratification is essentially horizontal and not vertical provides succour and solace. I am unique and different is all that I need to understand myself. I need not ever be judgemental about myself with reference to any other equally unique being.  Projecting and then living upto that image which enhances and elevates in these kaleidoscopic hierarchal patterns, is truly facile, farcical and futile. The spectators, whose appreciation is solicited  are themselves preoccupied in  climbing their own respective ladders.  They scarcely have the time or the inclination to cast even a cursory glance at what I am  doing. Any achievement or accomplishment paradoxically makes the  conformist audience even more insecure and envious. The hegemony of righteous behaviour corrodes the free spirit, and breeds mediocrity. The 'Now' asks no questions, demands no assurances, expects no security. The Now is an exaltation, a celebration of plain being.  Life is not about playing to the gallery of the conformist Bourgeois class. Rather, it's about living it on ones own terms, with a casual disdain about approval ratings.
Maverick, Rebel, Upstart, Eccentric.............. after all, are mere nomenclatures. They are  spectral distortions, perceived by the Bourgeois donning the conditioning glasses of conformism.

Just another brick in the wall

All in all its just another
Brick in the wall

It's been a while now. Since I have been living an absolutely Absolute  Life. An absolute life? Might sound a bit strange to most. Right from childhood, we all have been programmed to live a relative life.
A life relative to a frame of reference. A frame, that makes all our activities and targets relative to and compared  to a cohort. Academics, sports, extra curricular activities, almost all aspects of my life were always subservient to unwritten norms and standards. This frame formed the backbone of ones identity and relevance to the larger picture.
        It provided me too, with coefficients of worthiness in all the domains. These coefficients were the objective yardsticks to measure the intangible Self. Understanding the Self was always using the maths formula-
     My worth = score of pack leader
                           -------------------------------
                          My score.

The  highest score I could ever get was 1.   My existence was totally relative to my cohorts.Notice how my worth becomes a fraction if my score exceeds the pack leader using the above equation.  I was expected to lead the pack and hence get to the 1. That was the irony, The pack provided meaning to the individual. My assessment, my identity, my value was a function of the group. The pack was the benchmark. We scarcely realise that the limitations of the pack become our own limitations. This was the gist of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Carl Lewis made a very telling remark when asked what he felt after winning the Olympic Gold in long jump. His father used to keep a marker at the prevalent Olympic record when Carl was practicing in the Long jump event. Carl said, he felt, that his performance could have beaten Bob Beamons world record if his father might not have kept a marker.       
This programme was further deeply entrenched in Medical School.
The first seeds of rebellion were paradoxically sown in Medical School.After getting admission to Medical School, I thought I had established my being part of the lead group in the pack. Now was the time to live the moment. But, alas!, this rebelliousness was highly disapproved by self righteous colleagues and it soon became evident, that I must tow the line.
Then began the arduous climb on the path to post graduation, and thereafter super specialisation as a Neurosurgeon. A total of 13 years. The compulsion effected by  the frame of reference was by now an obsession. Since I was a deemed  pack leader, I had to believe in its authenticity.
But I was never comfortable. I tried to flex the muscle of rebellion,  but it was all in vain. I was just "Another Brick in the Wall".
            The train of Life chugged along on the tracks of conformity. It encountered all the expected stations enroute.
One fine day after living up to everyone's expectations, fulfilling my responsibilities, I threw the gauntlet to conformity. I was going to live life on my terms. No one,  including myself, will ever have the authority to sit in judgement. My actions will be directed to living my life with no frame of reference.
 I walked out of a failing relationship.  I left my home, that I had bought with my hard earned money. I learnt to play the saxaphone. I published a book, a compilation of 70 articles featured in the Speaking Tree. I presented a paper in a Quantum Physics conference in Rome on  Syntropy.I did the Chaddar Trek. I settled down again with a person, who is worthy of being a soul mate. I ventured into doing complex neurosurgery, that I earlier dreaded. I operate about 12 to 14 supra major Surgeries each month mostly on the poor, unaffording patients in a University Hospital. I have been associated with a research project to develop "cell lines" from malignant brain tumour cells.  I walked the Waari. I built my own small shack on a piece of land, adjacent to a beautiful water body. I learnt kayaking and bought my own Kayak. I bought a Rottweiler as a pet. I drove to the Himalayas. I gave a public performance of my saxophone. I am an MCI recognised examiner for the Neurosurgery Examinations, a guide for Neurosurgery residency program.
Then again , I do come across the pack and other cohorts, who enquire rather sarcastically about my Career, my routine, how many patients I see, and the routine coefficients that determine my position on the ubiquitous frame. I politely smile and refrain from answering any queries. Because I'm worthless in the relative domain. I love doing different things and exploring myself. Being different is not a specific effort done to pamper the ego. It's all about respecting myself for what I am and not for what others think of me. I strive for self actualising, scaling the Maslows Pyramid.  The song of Life must have a variety of notes to become a melodious symphony.
 Absolute existence is not subservient to approvals, ratings, evaluations or assessments. The song stands rephrased as
"All in all I'm just a
 Breach in the wall"
I am my own spectator. I play to my own gallery.

A beautiful song by Frank Sinatra that echoes these thoughts. Of course, I do hope it's not curtains for me so soon.

https://youtu.be/6E2hYDIFDIU

The applause from Dad

Rewind. Circa 40 years ago. School days. Tense times, tense moments. Uniforms, books, leather shoes, homework completion, unit tests, utterly boring mass PT, swimming period............ it was honestly a tad too much for a plump, fun loving, slightly lazy kid. There were those moments of sanity like catching tadpoles in the valley, building dams on the hill, but these were far and few. Routine was very hectic, on a tight leash as it were. There were of course moments of fun and frolic with friends and those occasional forays across the border- St Josephs.
Remarks was one of the greatest curses of student life. There were these 4 pages at the end of our school diary( calendar) where teachers would write complaints. These were largely to do with homework not done, playing mischief in the class, etc. Then there was this death sentence- Pink card/ grey card that almost was tantamount to being sent to the gallows.
Get up at 6, and then creep into dad's bedroom with a sheepish look, sliding the calendar with a remark for his signature.
Getting the parent to sign the remark was such a stress.I would be prepared for getting admonished. But it was a trick that worked. He was still recovering from his somnolent state, and then had to rush to get ready for leaving for office. He would get angry, but then sign the remark. Hushhhhhhh. It was really torturous.
It was always a great strategy to get the remark signed. The moment the calendar had the red mark, my planning would begin. There were two other options.
1) As I enter home, take the bull by the horns and just tell mom. I got a remark today. This strategy would work if the last remark was received at least 6 weeks earlier.

2) leave for school and then come back saying I forgot something and then take the calendar to mom for signing. This was if the academic performance had been really poor for the preceding few days and  if the remark was given closer to the weekend. Then this tactic was used on a Monday morning.  Otherwise the weekend would get fired.

Sometimes, I would be out of the class for not getting craft material. I used to make desperate attempts to gather some glazed paper, gum tape and give the semblance of  being equipped to attend the craft class. But alas, it would often be inadequate.
           To add to the torture was the annual day function. My name was never in the list of students getting a prize. It was obviously expecting too much considering my average academic performance, my mischievous demeanour and a casual attitude. Mom and Dad would attend. And there were those Good Boys, whose books were always covered, uniforms with all buttons intact, homework always complete and who got some unbelievable marks. It used to really scare me. Post the function, I knew, I would be in for some really serious talk. See how xyz is doing. He's so sincere, intelligent and hard working. I used to really feel like burying xyz  6 feet under the ground. Why couldn't these guys also have torn uniforms, some really messed up report cards, a few remarks in their calendars? I mean, I wasn't doing anything grossly wrong, and yet, I never got any prize for any subject. It used to be really a matter of concern. And teachers, used to be so considerate when they would write very pithy and loaded remarks on the report card. 
" Can do better."
" Needs more hard work and sincerity "
 "Easily distracted"
 I used to end up feeling as if I was a rogue amidst monks, who had great concentration and discipline. These guys, who always got great marks, never shouted or played the fool in class..........?????
I  realised one fine day that I'm not one of them and can never be. I was the boisterous guy, always upto some prank, could not conceal my explosive laughter if any such situation arose in the class.
Was almost always last in the gruelling cross country....
"Black Rock, four poles, white rock and back" These words spelt disaster. 
Anyways, I always back then dreamt of one day walking up proudly on the annual day function to pick up a glittering cup watching my parents chests swell  with pride. No. Never. It never happened.
But, then I did do something right. Or so it seems. Being invited as the chief guest in the school annual day in  Loyola.
But, it will be so poignant.
My eyes will keep looking for my dearest Dad. The one, who made me what I am, the one whose memory keeps me going.
I hope Dad will be watching from wherever he is.
Dad,  I never made it to the stage, when you  attended the Prize Distribution function. But you never judged me by whether I walked on the stage to get a prize.  You always believed that my capabilities were never subservient to mere walking up the stage. I coveted those cups, and walking the stage, but you prepared me to walk the streets of life. You never assessed my worth by the  prizes I never received. You made me aware of the greatest prize that lay within me. You let me be, and loved and respected me for what I was and not what you wanted me to be. Your faith was amply justified when I got admission to medical school, did a masters in surgery and then got a gold medal for my neurosurgery board exam from Bombay university.
Daddy, I have made it to the stage eventually. I know, it won't matter to you. And yet I know you will clap and cheer the loudest. I know you will be there in the audience smiling with that look of
" See, I always knew your worth, whether you adorned the stage or not. "

Consciousness- prior to Big Bang

A summary of the talk that I presented at the World Parliament.

Consciousness- Prior to the Big Bang

The Big Bang has increasingly been accepted as the cosmological theory for the formation of the universe. It started off somewhere around 13.8 billion years ago. on a sub atomic scale and expanded at a phenomenal rate. It has since been expanding at an ever increasing rate. The origin of the universe, the origin of life, and all manifestation, is incomprehensible even to the most advanced scientific investigating methods.
Is this universe a creation, a manifestation, an illusion? Is there any Hard Unchanging Reality? What role does consciousness have to play in the evolution of the universe? Or is consciousness the most fundamental phenomenon, that transcends time and space? This is the topic that we will dwell on in this presentation.
Scientists have for the first time separated a particle from one of its physical properties - creating a "quantum Cheshire Cat".
The phenomenon is named after the curious feline in Alice in Wonderland, who vanishes leaving only its grin.
Researchers took a beam of neutrons and separated them from their magnetic moment, like passengers and their baggage at airport security.
The researchers used an experimental set-up known as an interferometer, at the Institute Laue-Langevin (ILL) in Grenoble, France.
A neutron beam was passed through a silicon crystal, sending it down two different paths .
By applying filters and a technique known as "post-selection", they were able to detect the physical separation of the neutrons from their magnetic moment - as measured by the direction of their spin.
"The system behaves as if the neutrons go through one beam path, while their magnetic moment travels along the other," the researchers reported.
This raises issues serious issues about the 'measurement paradox'. Do all the attributes or measured parameters actually exist, or are they a subject matter of perception of the observer? The observer is in fact now proven to impact and modify the observed. In that case, can the observed have any objective validity if it is relative to the observer?
We are able to measure and record radiation and other residual traces of the Big Bang which lends credibility to it having occurred. It might be so too. But the larger question raised by modem quantum physics is that for it to have occurred, it had to have been observed by a conscious observer. What were the conditions, preceding that momentous event? Who pulled the trigger or pressed the button for the Big Bang to occur? Even after the Big Bang,  proportionate amounts of matter and anti matter was so critically balanced to ensure the formation of the universe subsequently. This cannot be  attributed to mere chance. There had to be an intelligence that planned and executed the plan to perfection. Creation of this material universe, is so tangible and perceptible, and yet needs the mediation of a Higgs field and a Higgs Boson to validate its tangibility. The perceiver is perceiving and yet cannot fathom the logistics of perception. Perception is a neurological phenomenon. An interaction between an object and the corresponding sensory modality. This interaction is transduced into an
electro-chemical signal, that's decoded by a cognitive apparatus, that also lends a meaning to the cognized data.
On one hand we have the  Lockean “realist” account according to which perception involves the creation of an “inner reflection” of an independently existing external reality, and, on the other hand, a Kantean “anti-realist” concept of the “veil of perception.”Separation of matter and it's characteristics, attributes or qualities will be an important landmark in our understanding of the phenomenon of consciousness.
Consciousness is traditionally attributed to an emergent quality of neural networks. It is  very intriguing to note that even a single celled creature like the amoeba is conscious and takes appropriate measures to feed and avoid any hostile milieu exterior. Does consciousness operate necessarily through mediation by  a  biological matrix? Could it be all pervading like a magnetic field with the organic or biological substrate serving  as merely a receiver and or processor?
Could consciousness be merely a form of energy that manifests in different forms by modulating it's  frequency and amplitude?
Can perception, be merely a play  of consciousness, a phenomenon that simultaneously projects and  comprehends the external world as a holographic reality? The separation and distinction of the  objective world is because of the external appearances. If the elementary fundamental constituent is the ubiquitous atom, then the perceived difference of the external form may just be a program of the subject's perception. Rather than different particles carrying the information of matter and it's qualities, it could be that different loci in the brain might be activated to perceive matter and it's qualities simultaneously.
             This brought a realisation that the effect is nothing more than the material cause and also that  the effect is inseparable from the material cause. But even more important was the fact that the effect pre-existed in the cause. The idea of a bracelet could exist without the material ( gold) but the actual bracelet had to exist in the material cause- the lump of gold. If this were not so, it would have been possible to produce any object from any material. If something non existent could be manufactured from an existing material, then we could have produced water from a block of wood. In this case, the creative skills of the goldsmith cannot produce any new substance. His efforts only manifest the form of the material which was concealed in its pervious state.  My line of thinking led me to the conceptual dichotomy in Indian philosophy of Asatkaryavada and  Satkaryavada. In the former, the effect is a a totally new entity and does not reside in the material cause. The created universe, would then be a new entity and not have any causality as we understand.
     An example could be of a gold bracelet. It would be considered  a distinct new entity independent of the lump of gold. Satkaryavada believes that effect pre-existed in the cause.  The bracelet is no different from the gold.
Following the latter ideology of Satkaryavada, is this change of form ( gold to bracelet) actual or apparent? The  Sankhya school of thought believes the effect to be an actual transformation of the material cause. The bracelet was non existent before it was formed. A new form has been transformed into what it was not earlier. There is a real change ( Parinama). A new entity is born.
Does a change of form actually amount to a changed reality? Did the transformation into a bracelet change the material substance from which it was derived?
Perception of change of form certainly does not change  reality.
The bracelet had a distinctive curve. What is the relationship of this curve with the bracelet? The curve cannot be appreciated without the bracelet. It is the attribute of the object. The curve cannot exist in the absence of the bracelet. The curve must have existed in the gold as a potential. The attribute of curvature of  the bracelet has no independent existence apart from the bracelet just as  the bracelet has no existence apart from the gold.
At the core of this thought process is the relationship of the quality to the object ( curvature to the bracelet) and of the object to its cause or substance.   If the cause  and the effect are distinct, but the cause produces the effect we would  fail to explain the relation between an attribute and an object. Two distinct realities would then arise which would need  a third phenomenon, that links the two.
A distinction in reality between the object and it's attribute is therefore logically indefensible as it would involve multiple realities. A change in form cannot be logically accepted as a real change unless there is a simultaneous change in the cause or the substance.
If the bracelet was to genuinely have a distinct identity from the gold, it would amount to violating ontology. The gold bracelet and the gold  are no different from gold, but yet the form (bracelet) is different by having a specific, discrete form. The lump of  gold and the bracelet are identical and yet different -Identical-in- difference. The two are identical in some respects, and yet different in other.
This  hypothesis raises a paradox- X is simultaneously Y and non-Y.
Causation does not change reality. Therefore, change is just a perceptive warp of an underlying unchanging reality.  Where does that leave us when we perceive an illusory object like a rainbow? We do perceive it but reasoning tells us that it is virtual. On similar grounds, change also is only apparent. It does not in any way change reality.
This leads to a very intresting philosophical construct -  Vivartavaad or theory of apparent change.
The gold is subject to modification -( Vikara). The gold also is a form of some pre-existing substance.
All material objects are liable to modification, and so there must be a substance underlying them all which persists through all.  It would be the material cause or the underlying reality behind this objective world.
            Existence of the material world is revealed in its perception. Could this 'Existence' itself be the substance, the underlying reality of the material world? The material cause might just be an intangible superposition, a state of infinite possibilities- Brahman. The intangible foundation on which rests this phenomenal creation.
Quantum theory brings us to a rather paradoxical realisation. The observed cannot be said to exist in the absence of an observer. The observer cannot be called one if there is nothing  to observe. So the observer and the observed must arise simultaneously and are totally inter dependent. They are bound together by the process of observation.
This trilogy of observer, observed and observation must arise simultaneously.
Monists like Spinoza adhere to the position that there is some  neutral substance, of which  both matter and mind are properties. The Advaita or non duality too believes in a non-numerical holistic all pervading unity that simultaneously manifests as the observer and the observed. In that case, the observer and the observed must be synchronous and then the Big Bang  would be reduced to an epiphany, a realisation that I am simultaneously the creator and witness of this Universe.
Aham Brahmaasami.

Dr Deepak Ranade.

The ugly duckling

The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling" is a literary fairy tale by  Hans Christian Andersen. We all grew up listening to these enchanting tales that had very endearing protagonists, and yet, very powerful, take home messages.  This story is all about  a little bird born in a barnyard who is always humiliated and ridiculed for its rather unaesthetic appearance.  Until, much to his delight (and to the surprise of others), he transforms into a beautiful swan, the most beautiful bird of all. The story is a classic and popular around the world as a tale about  realising ones personal worth and a transformation that is effected from within.
The tale however has an extension, an ironical aftermath that is an even greater epiphany. An awareness, that is much more fundamental and intense.

  The last few lines of the story........

 One day, as he was swimming, he saw a beautiful swan in the lake and fell in love instantly.However, the duckling remembered that he was very ugly and at this thought he bowed his head down in sadness. Over the winter he had turned into a very handsome young swan!"I understand now! My brothers and sisters are all ducklings, but I am a swan," he thought and swam after the beautiful swan. Soon they got married and lived happily ever after.

The Aftermath........

Now the duckling, no, Swan was very excited. He was embarking on a new phase of life with that glorious realisation that he was as good as or possibly, a shade better( pun intended) than those who had mocked at his former ungainly disposition.
He gradually noticed, however, that he was becoming the object of their attention, all over again. This time, the attention had a trace of envy. There were very soft indications of this. The others would stick together in a group, isolating him totally, and spare no effort to make him feel unwanted. None had the ability to face themselves, or then explore and navigate the path of solitude.  They were secure and safe in the herd. Their strength lay in an " I preen your feathers, and you preen mine" This approach  guaranteed acceptance, as well as provided periodic stoking  of the  embers of their egoes. Their unity was now  bolstered by the envy that all harboured towards this maverick Swan, whose metamorphosis was an unpleasant, unwelcome surprise.
Their impolite countenance was slowly becoming a matter of concern for the swan. He was not expecting any great adulation or appreciation from his peers. He had all along hoped for being accepted and treated as an integral part of the flock.  A very fundamental need. Or so he thought. Membership of the flock was at a premium, accorded to only those who never posed a challenge, or threat to the pecking order. The hierarchy in the flock was at stake. His recent transformation  started  becoming  a matter of even greater source of concern to the flock, than his inglorious and unbecoming past. It all seemed such an incomprehensible paradox.  He had hated to be the object of others constant attention and ridicule,  which he presumed was directed towards his shortcomings. He surmised that post his alchemic transmogrification,he would imperceptibly blend into the warmth and comfort of their acceptance.  He never expected be the cynosure of their eyes. He just wanted to be a part of them.
He scarcely expected the abundance of his virtues to simultaneously metamorphose into a curse. It was as if his upgrade was restricted to his own cognition. His beauty was for his eyes only. He asked himself, whether he wanted  this transformation for his own aesthetic evolution or for enhancing his acceptance in flock?
Then came the moment of epiphany. Being different, was the matter of contention. It did not matter, if he were different for the better, or the worse. In fact, it was better to be worse off because he was then at least not perceived as a threat. Being better off was worse. He realised, he would have to pay the price of conformity and mediocrity as subscription for membership to the fold.
He did not choose to be a non conformist. He was just made differently and this difference cost him his place in the flock.
The beauty of becoming beautiful was beautiful if it was for his own evolution. He decided not to get affected by being despised by the flock. He was filled with an emotion, that was not pride, but a very gratifying sense of self regard and respect.  For others, the Ugly Duckling remained ugly. Only this time around,  beautifully ugly.

Deepak Ranade.

Rituals or expressions of emotions

Ritual,Tradition or Emotion?

The wedding preparations of Soniya, our daughter got underway yesterday. It was a kind of invocation for seeking the blessings of the Lord as we kicked off the distribution of  invitations. There were some very interesting and curious rituals.
Medha had invited her parents, sister and a few close friends to participate in this light hearted function.
An oft encountered dilemma, that can become a very contentious issue is the relevance, importance and extent of tradition and rituals for occasions and more specifically for weddings. Weddings are an inevitable clash of egos, cultures and beliefs.
Today's generations  are  very emancipated  and quite often treat tradition, legacy and rituals as anachronistic archaic orthodoxy. Their stance is justified as performance of rituals, pujas, religious practices has never and will never impact the outcome of any event or alliance. Recital of Vedic hymns can never sanctify an alliance, that's not backed up with a moral and ethical commitment of the concerned parties.
The rising levels of disharmony, incongruence and fractures  in relationships, has indeed reduced all these traditional garnishings to senseless profanities. So in light of these ever changing equations and lifestyles, should we abandon our legacy and embrace a less deliberate and more practical alternative that's more in accordance with the pragmatic  mindset of the today's youth?
Is ritual merely a set of mechanical actions that are totally irrelevant and out of synch?
 I am an agnostic, with a modest realisation of the limitations of my perceptive and intellectual faculties. A vehement denial implies a total conviction in ones own faculties and their obsession with tangibility.  I have  a very patchy almost hypocritical  belief system that shuffles and switches sides depending on the circumstances.
True liberation would be breaking the shackles of dogma. Insistence on the non existence of any anthropological or other God, or proclaiming the futility of all belief systems is also a belief system.
My profession permits me close ups of life that always make me realise how insignificant and utterly powerless we are. Reposing faith and trust in some power that's beyond ones sphere of control goes a long way in trimming the rapidly growing tentacles of the ego.
   Seeing Medha and her ethnic coterie, all decked up in a traditional attire, and enjoying the nuances of the carefully crafted rituals stirred something within me.
The thought, emotion and the intention behind devoting so much time and energy into these acts of orthodoxy surely injected an enthusiasm, positivity, and cheer into this oncoming event. Tradition certainly has it's own aesthetic appeal. Orthodoxy had its own charm. There was no harm in seeking the benedictions of the Almighty, and even if He were to remain unaffected by this attempted appeasement, the fun and frolic, the mirth and gaiety that this gathering generated was so refreshing. There will always be those sceptics, who with their neo- intellectual approach reduce these acts to blasphemy. They will argue till eternity about the incongruence of Science and these menial indulgences.
   I guess, at the end of the day, they certainly have a point, but then, could they find any workable tangible alternative, that could guarantee the solidity and durability of these holy alliances? 
Seeing the entire episode first hand I somehow am convinced, that the ritual reaffirmed the love, concern, and commitment to the happiness and welfare of the soon to be couple. I might not believe in rituals, but I certainly believe in soliciting blessings. God Bless the occasion and the alliance.

The measurement paradox

Heisenberg's uncertainty principle.

The Heisenberg uncertainty principle is a law in quantum mechanics that limits how accurately you can measure two related variables. ... Heisenberg explained this using something called the observer effect, which says that the very act of measuring one value affects the other, and therefore introduces some uncertainty. A simple explanation is as follows-
    Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle states that it is impossible to measure the position and linear momentum of an electron simultaneously with great accuracy. If there will be certainty in position, there will be uncertainty in linear momentum and vice-versa. Greater knowledge we have about one parameter of the electron comes at the cost of lesser knowledge about the other parameter.
           On the scratch pads of our minds, we often make some assessments, calculations about life, measurements about our relationships. It becomes amply evident, that these calculations and measurements are based on certain variables. The two most common variables that affect our lives are
What I want in life
When do I want it.
      The desire to get  what I want might be fulfilled, but at the cost of not getting it when I want. And at a chosen moment, what I have is not what I desire at that moment. I can either choose the moment, or then what I want. The more I know what I want, the lesser can I insist on getting it when I want. And the more accurately I choose a moment, the lesser will I be satisfied with what I have at that moment.  It is almost impossible to have control to get the object of ones desire at a  chosen moment. Uncertainty is as inevitable as life.
          Can we really measure up variables and thereafter compute a plan of action?
      The “measurement problem” has been called “the most controversial problem in physics today”. The problem arises because Quantum Mechanics  states that only the presence of an Observer validates any event. It doesn’t offer a picture of reality when no one is looking. It talks about superpositions.  Can it be that nothing really happens — that there are only probabilities? And when the Observer does observe, his observations and measurements present an altered state.
So, it's like we create our own universe, and also alter it simultaneously without realising it.
I realise, at the end of it all, it's best not to choose. Neither the moment, nor what I want. Just flow along and live life without distorting it by  making any attempts to calculate or measure. Liberation is making a choice of not choosing and measuring. It is all about just being in the moment without expectations or judgements.