Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Art of Reading

I have been reading ever since I can remember. As a kid I used to devour magazines, periodicals, newspapers and books, of all genres. Westerns, thrillers, horror, romance, poetry, classics all had equal standing for me. If I had nothing to read, I would pick up a technical journal, just so that my eyes could experience the comforting sense of running over printed words. It mattered not that I understood very little, or that I was not absorbing every single word. Sometimes it was not even what was printed, but the binding, or the cover, or the smell of a book that could keep me enraptured.

I could read standing, sleeping, or sitting; at home, in the bus, train, plane or car. I could read in pin-drop silence, or in a cacophony of sound, and I never let the absence of proper lighting set me back. What little strength my hands developed is, I am sure, due to having held up heavy books to read while lying prone on the bed. The heavier and thicker the book, the more eager was my desire to peruse it. I distinctly remember many nights of going to bed with a book under my pillow, and a smile on my face.

Reading could keep me up, or put me to sleep. It educated me, but also made me realise my own ignorance. Many times it made me feel proud of my insight, or humbled me with my lack of understanding. It would lift me to dizzying heights of wonder, or make my toes curl up with revulsion at the thoughts and words of a character. It expanded my vocabulary, and ruined my eyes.

Some of the great authors were my best friends for days at a time, espousing their theories or philosophies or enrapturing me with their tales. Their stories got me familiar with cities and places that my feet would never tread on. Books gave me something to look forward to, when I had nothing else. Loneliness was an affliction that I never suffered from, as a good book was company extraordinaire! Whether I was travelling alone or had some idle time, my books were always there.

Hence if someone were to tell me, even a year ago, that there would come a time, when picking up a book would be a chore, I would have laughed. I do not believe that anyone who knows me well could even harbor such a thought. But today that statement holds true. Today I do not feel like lifting a book, or a magazine. I have literally hundreds of books to be read in my bookcase, but have not managed to be seduced by even one. Even the ones that did beckon, (gasp) I could not complete. Some are lying on my bedside table, their covers appealing to my sense of guilt, their authors pleading for their work to be lifted, with book-marks peeking out cheekily to remind me of an unfinished volume.

I can only blame Mr. Steve Jobs and his Ipad for this conundrum that I am in. Ever since I got it, I have been slowly but surely weaned away from the physical act of picking up books or magazines. The allure of their electronic cousins has ensnared me. The associated pleasure of browsing in bookstores has also fallen prey, as the world of books is now literally at my fingertips. Now my entire library is with me, and I can curl up on my lazy-boy and decide which of the various books that I am reading concurrently, I want to get into.

I have embraced the 21st Century. I have gone digital!

Monday, August 8, 2011

Past Perfect

A couple of weeks ago, while mall-crawling, my wife with an exclaimation of surprise pulled out a branded tee shirt from the display rack. She wanted to take a proper look at it in the light to confirm what she thought she had seen. This tee had gaping holes all over, and looked as if it had been stored in a closet full of moths. Aghast, we looked around to confirm whether this was a damaged piece, and saw that there were many more on sale. We of course have seen torn and shredded jeans, slippers and tops being sold at astronomical prices, but this one took the cake! Who would buy that and why? That got me thinking......  

.... that the current generation of youngsters suffers from a huge inferiority complex. It is masked behind an attitude of belligerence and over-confidence. At a superficial level they seem to be completely at ease with what life has in store for them. This bravura is however only skin-deep, and it becomes evident as one strips away the superficiality, to look at the actions behind them. I cannot blame them, for most of them have been brought up in relative luxury, and have never had to strive or fight for themselves. Sharing, be it toys, clothes, books or food is an alien concept, and hand-me-downs would be downright repugnant. Their parents, having taken the hard road to adulthood have sheltered their children, in the vain hope that that makes them better parents.

 
Wherever you grew up in the 1950's to the 1980's; be it Asia, US or Europe, it is probable that you grew up in a rule-based, value-driven environment. Your parents, more likely than not, inculcated and ingrained values for money, hard work, respect for elders and an attitude of temperance and patience, into you. Even if your friends and colleagues came from significantly disparate economic backgrounds, these values hard-coded into each child, meant that differences hardly ever manifested on the playground. That of course did not mean that all children growing up were the same - but the exceptions proved the rule.

By and large, your parents let you fight your own battles, be it in the playground or the school. In fact, the rule of the playground was quite similar to the law of the jungle, and quite often I was at the brunt end of that piece of unwritten edict. In school it was sometimes as bad, because in addition to school yard bullies you had teachers who never held back their display of displeasure by the threat of legislation, counseling or job loss. Even though not completely justifiable, it did ensure that discipline and attendance were exemplary, as was the behavior of the students. It was generally accepted wisdom that every child was different and hence could not rank first, and that inequalities in talents and aptitude were a given, and quite natural. A youth’s lackluster performance was not immediately blamed on teachers, coaches, some syndrome or the universe in general. Somehow a vast majority of this generation did not land up with emotional stress or suffer from mental disturbance. They turned out fine - even the dyslexics!

That same generation then turned its back on their parent’s values, and adopted a new set of child rearing rules. Indulgence, tolerance and leniency are now the guiding principles of parenting. Forget corporal punishment, even chastising and censoring are taboo. The child’s psyche is too fragile, and an unwarranted word at a tender age could leave enduring scars. In a strange perversion of simulated childbirth, children were to be cocooned from the realities surrounding them, until they are thrust out into the world as fully formed adults.

But these same parents regale their children with stories about the hardships they endured, and the abstinence that was common growing up. They depicted their own parents either as taskmasters or completely detached, and their childhood as a rough and tumble whirl of hard, character-forming experiences. They take pride in the values inculcated in them, and wax lyrical on how strong that made them.
They rear their children like bonsai plants, and expect them to grow into mighty oaks!

What do you think that does to the teen? What do you think is the impact on their self-esteem? They of course want to prove how tough they are. Surrounded by indulgence, this manifests in fashion, music and other pursuits. For example:-


• While we aspired for fine clothes and attire; they want to wear faded, ripped, stressed and torn clothes to look like hobos.

• When we listened to music that lifted our spirit; they listen to tortured lyrics from a delusional drug-induced mind or rap (need I say more?)

• We watched movies about heroic people fighting all odds to succeed; they watch about the futility of breaking out

• We played in the sun and the rain, climbed trees, and ran over cracked sidewalks; they play GTA, running and shooting people in the virtual world

• We accidentally scratched and bruised ourselves, and sometimes broke bones cycling and roller skating; they invite injury through extreme sports

• We revered people who could speak eloquently; they idolize the descent of language to its lowest common denominator.

So what comes next? And are we fostering a deep rooted psychosis that attracts them to the less than perfect, and to the dangerous? Maybe factory-minted dented Ferraris and shattered screen TV’s, might become the outrĂ© items of the future.

What do you think?