Rooting for the Devil

This topic has interested me ever since I saw House of Cards for the first time. Whilst planning for a trip, I try to read up and know about a city. It so happened that one of my projects landed me in Washington D.C where I was to stay for a couple of months. Always excited about US presidential system, there was nothing more I would have asked for than to be located out of the heart of American democracy (I even wrote to the White House, but then that's a different story). So, to plan for the same, I watched "House of Cards", and read "The Lost Symbol" just to get pre-excited about the city I had always dreamed to visit – see the apotheosis of Washington, go to the well-lined historic museums including the holocaust museum (a must visit), and glance at the Hope diamond. Coming back to the topic – When I realized that I was rooting for Frank Underwood, the protagonist of House of Cards, and also a murderer (sorry for the spoils), I did not give it much of a thought except a few water cooler talks with a colleague who shared the same feelings about the show. Then you look back and realize that there may be a trend here, and possibly a wider ramification.

When you find yourself in awe of Ramsay Bolton (Game of Thrones) – you explain to yourself that it's all about how well Iwan Rheon played that character. I was reminded of a role that epitomized the versatility of Shahrukh Khan. It was that of Rahul – the passionate lover in 1993 flick Darr – that helped catapult his career, whilst the 'hero' of the movie receded into the oblivion. Clearly there is a bit of 'mass' appeal.  Needless to say you find more quotes attributed to the "Joker" in the hustling old Delhi markets or at the poster vendors when you are about to ascend those metro stairs than those from the Batman – there clearly is something that draws us to the "not so good' guys.

I am neither a psychologist nor am I writing to prove or disprove anything – but is there a deeper realization that underlie this? Strangely enough, our infatuation with the not so good reflects an inherent double standards – one standard for what we see on screen whilst a completely different for personal lives – almost bordering a duplicitous nature of human beings. How difficult is it to forgive? Very hard, actually – in real life we keep chasing perfection everywhere – work, partnership, love, friendship – you name it. Whilst our attitude is reconciliatory towards the drawbacks in a character of a film (sometimes even being emotionally overwhelmed by their actions or causes), in real life, we are relentlessly unforgiving about one mistake your friend makes, one conversation that didn't go right or one small thing that irked you into being unforgiving – from the most loving and caring friend, you become recluse and uncaring ; from being an equal partner, you become aloof and indifferent ; and what pinches, is from you being that one stop for everything they needed, you are now one sour memory for the one whose company you placed high premium on. And Why? All, because one never forgives, and possibly, easily forgets – our obduracy and ego underlies what's wrong with relationships today – lopsided, and emotionally detached from at least one end.

But this is not a 101 on how to cement a deep friendship - it is merely an observation.

Gratitude:  The doodle was very graciously offered by my friend Aastha, who excels at this art. Please check out her Instagram page  https://www.instagram.com/doodlesbyaastha/

Dreams amid nightmare

Interestingly, I have often found studying about dreams to be boring, and too abstract for comfort and logic. That perspective has not changed even now. That been said, I have been dreaming more frequently these days – probably, the mind is not taking to the lockdown as seamlessly as your governments will want you to. Whilst one's dreams may range from the sublime to the most ridiculous, mine seem to veer close to being ridiculous. A few nights ago, I dreamt that President Trump had appointed me as his chief campaign manager – and was prying on me if I were doing my job dutifully (or possibly just confirming if I were a CNN mole in his party cadre). The prying manifested with him sheepishly coming into my room, an old second tier city house in India, devoid of the White House grandeur, yet, big enough to not make the president feel uncomfortable. He had come to check what was I up to ; I even had a few papers in my hand ready to hand them over to him, and then saw him recede back to where he came from, satisfied that I was doing my job well or probably disappointed that he could not fire me – hard to tell.

Another dream had Lord Shiva standing next to my bed at 2 am ! This time I woke up with a startle, unable to fathom what had happened, and did I just do the Darshan live? – My mom contests the latter. She feels, with a probable sense of anguish and sigh, that if with the age long prayers, especially the one meticulously done on Mondays the needle hasn't moved for her, I am cheating myself into believing that the lord could come for me - someone who is agnostic, bordering an atheist. I agree, a far fetched idea ; one clearly needs to elevate oneself to be worthy enough for that divine vision, a commonly acceptable belief in the religious parlance. My family may have contributed to the TRP of Doordarshan that saw peak viewership amid C-19, and may also be the reason for this dream. They have been airing all the bhakti series of the past (late 80s and 90s) has seen extensive usage of my TV set at the prime time. Starting with Ramayana, then Krishna and now Vishnu Puran. Throw in a bit of speaker amplified bhajans here and there during the day, and it makes a perfect recipe to allow for a darshan – figment of my imagination, as mom would call it, a Darshan, as I would like to believe. I am just glad thus far that Alif Laila with its million Jinns haven't made it to prime time, as yet. 

Other dreams transport you back in time. You wake up helpless, not knowing what to do, feeling almost remorseful about waking up. Just last night, I dreamt of a beautiful, graceful lady in mine – oddly enough resembling someone I probably know from my past – or may be even that was my imagination? Not sure. But that was the third time in a period span of these lockdown period that she was central to my dream. She was impeccably dressed in white, hair tied in a bun, sitting cross-legged and talking to someone, having snacks from a plate. I was somewhere near but didn’t have the guts to confront her - I hid nearby just to get a glimpse, and gazed at her intently, nervously fixated on one who remains the most beautiful woman I have ever met or seen - a thin line of Kajal drawn to perfection across her eyes, the face shone with a hue of red matching the most gracious of dawns, and the gloss of her lips almost twinkled as if a lighthouse drawing sailors to it. It probably represented the purity in her soul that mere mortals cannot comprehend. In another, she wore a checkered red shirt, was more accessible - I had graduated into being a friend, and already were discussing a glorious past in a playful mood. We even exchanged little notes, neatly and historically packaged into respective bottle which we could not probably share before - much like those messages in bottles at sea, that took years to reach a reader. No idea what to make of such dreams.

Interestingly enough, the divine lady and the not so divine President, were a part of the same dream. May be I needed the most powerful person on the planet to help convey my feelings to her, or broker a friendship...who knows how the subconscious works! Or, maybe, showing both the sublime and the ridiculous in the same dream was God’s way of telling me that I was being ridiculous!

Image courtesy: Wallpaper flare