A hot simmering summer and a forlorn tree, placed prominently in the foreground, have immeasurable wisdom to convey. The breeze is warm and blowing in all directions the mind can take, festering the land of man and women with whirl devils. Pinionated to its pride on the ground of its birth, this tree is an epitome of courage as if resisting rancorous thinkers of heaven and earth and at the same time exuding profound beauty with its terse arborisation denuded of foliage, symbolising equability in discomfit. The tree characterises a bouddhic melee with the nature of things, stultified yet endowed with puerile hortatory of nothingness. Profanity would too find a place underneath this tree, among the penetrating and onerous light from the heavens and the swaddling winds of the land. An abrupt mystical and perspicacious vision fords this external torment with inner peace. Profanity in obsolescence may be the way to the singular religion when the self-pejorative, tenuous caul of beliefs is gradually denuded. And once again, the lonesome tree will bloom to comfort the traveller, reborn in ignorance with the comfort of singularity. And then again another season shall follow.

some will yet take the challenge.

A lush green meadow caught my mind. A hillock boasted to a decapitated mountain plateau about how the thrilled trekkers would come together at the base camp, to GARNER courage before attempting to climb the daunting crag. The last evening would be spent around a campfire, with the leader making an INCENDIARY speech about the challenges of such an adventure. After he has satisfied himself about the fiery friction between caution and courage, the audience would precipitate into a cheerful and enthusiastic response. However as the night grew deeper, the wishful meadow would cast a spell of ASTRINGENT dreams, honouring life on the green home and giving every reason against a perilous advance. And in the morning, the visual beauty of the surrounding landscape would have the UNIQUE effect of further discouraging most of the members from taking to climbing. They would enjoy life as it is. Yet a few would opt for the alternative choice and proceed to face the uncompromising difficulties of the climb wishing only to see the beautiful meadow on the plateau.

Just a scribble-
' ... We AGGREGATED the cards on the table. They were stacked high, each one having been worked upon for years. They were the result of backbreaking research with various animal species, making a gradual ascent towards homosapiens. So what could be at stake? A dark cloud often betokens a storm, so does a meeting of contrarian thoughts BETOKEN a tumultuous argument, especially if it concerns rigorous science with ethical dilemma. Unfeigned efforts on both sides tend to stretch the cord to breaking points. And at such sunder verge, the stakes could be very high, enough to generate serious antagonism, breaking the barriers of veneration. For the crestfallen pole, it interprets doom. Such are the turbulence of rigorous scientific test of present day. These displeasures cannot be displayed ostensibly among the commons. And such hummocks are treaded every day by scientist working on the frontline with no space for COMMISERATION. Many are lost to oblivion, some revive, few thrive, and very few make it to the millions. This was one of those congregations where we lie between abject and appreciation. The brains pride was at stake....'

From my scribble Think Oblique 2018

8/07/2018
On the streets of Mumbai - a memoir.

These streets are too many, treaded too often. Connected to each other and yet in a maze-like manner, it probably takes a lifetime to realize that they all lie in continuity. I use to walk the trail from Chatrapati Shivaji terminus to Jahangir art gallery with intent to CONTEMPLATE art thought to be an aggregate impression of the contemporary youth. As soon as I would exit the railway station, I would experience a qualm amongst the dense crowd unique to Mumbai. The streets would at once widen into the crossroads and then converge into a constricted pedestrian pathway. It was the dubious life on the narrow gangway which possibly attracted me the most. It used to be a showcase of virtue and vices. It was from such insensitive, moot, unscrupulous and reprehensible vendors that I bought books like the biography of Einstein and novels by Hermann Hesse and at the same time peeked at the cover packs of imported condoms and pheromones. Neither was the ear spared with incendiary invectives being deposited every now and then. Since they followed so frequently, none appeared to last long to parse and contemplate. It became imperative to quicken my steps in such situations, suspecting subterfuge with every pair of eyes fixed on me. I was taught that such shall betoken incendiary outcome too fictitious for the kind of politeness inculcated in me by my family. With such thoughts above and painful feet due to the dilapidated pebbled path beneath was an experience which would create exhaustion and exaltation. On reaching the street gallery, I would quickly glance at the many oil and water coloured paintings with a certain hubris or confidence about the contextual association with efforts at intellectualization. I still remember my prefatory enthusiasm experience an acerbic disappointment at the soporific and uninflected themes. The pain in my feet would revolt and sunder my intentions to enter the gallery. I have often spent time sitting on the stairs leading to the main display and rarely the exhibition inside. Or maybe my mind was more interested in leaving the gallery and walking on the streets of Mumbai, in its derelict and seemingly endless curiosity.

Pratyush 

Passions of the mind - critical review.

My take

Book : The passions of the mind

Author : Irving Stone

When I bought this book at a premium price for a seconds, I was full of expectations for an enriching experience. I had already read two more  books authored by Irving stone, namely ‘Lust for life ‘and The Agony and the Ecstasy ‘ and had a mixed experience about the characters.

Biographies are end results of an amalgamation of the nature of subject and the authors efforts at presentation with a worthy analysis. This book unfortunately did not satisfy  either and the onus of responsibility falls heavily on the author for bringing forth a disappointing story  about  the life of a persona whom we visualized as a light-post during our search for knowledge. As for myself, am not interested in the trivialities of inter-personal relationship and the groveling for honorariums and awards. It was certainly the unlikable part of the story albeit it may be true. It was like reading words by its letters and forgetting the intended meaning or the context.  What was missing most was an independent analytical composition about the person and the very reason of remembering him today and for ever in the future. I suppose the book caused greater harm than good to the image of the man glorified in our textbook and scientific journals. Do I then intend to suggest the there was a need to censor the contents and reveal only the truth that is likable by the scientific community or the pro-Freudians of whom I am a representation? On the contrary, I wish to insist that the purpose of the book is to highlight or bring forth in an analytical process the strength within the weakness of both the person under evaluation in the context to the existing society and cultural behavior of the time. Authors need to develop, in the reader, the right perspective of the matter in discussion, by inserts and concluding notes along with the textual facts.

In most of all humanity, and possibly, generations to come , the history of the famous and the reputed scientist will be marred by the tryst for professional and public recognition. Without doubt some are successful in it and the others are not. Those who are not , most often get their  recognition post humus.  Among the fears for not being recognized in the life time and the non-acknowledgement of the science, the prior looms large. Self recognition is a primitive motive and often over-shadows the rational thoughts of a person. Fear of being over-thrown by a competing idea which creates monsters within, burgeons jealousy, putting a halt to assimilative creativity and results in irresolute censorship of the idea or the person. Both of which would be unnecessary if one gave a little seat space for the new idea to  fit in and for all one knows, the added knowledge with fill in a lacuna in a complicated process. If Freud did believe in his science of psychoanalysis, he should have been able to give some play of leverage to the possibility of integrating the thoughts of his colleagues. Certainly he lacked it gravely since he did not loose one but many friends who, did independently, contribute to the science and are remembered as masters in the field. Assimilation needs reasoning, that all beauty cannot be possibly perceived from a single perspective and another thought or view point may be able to contribute. Such an argument takes a lion’s heart and a fearless mind. 

Sigmund Freud’s biography was hijacked by many characters during his many stages of his life. His need for recognition by the university and the opinions of the eminent neurologists of his time were overbearing. And yet he budges in the direction of not continuing academic career , a decision which was influenced by Martha in his life. Through out the story as related by Irving stone, he continues to be often remarkably affected by the opinions of Martha – may be a trivial more than what is considered reasonable today. Freud’s personal life certainly has much to do with his thought process and the ease and rigidity with which he managed to associate much of the etiology of neurosis to sexuality.  The aspect of his personal sexual life remains fairly concealed for the biography of a person who attributed the same in abundance to the scrutiny of every other patient under evaluation. Of course, it may be claimed, indulging into such details is no longer necessary, since over the period gone by, we have a far better view point of personalities like that of Sigmund Freud. The whole biography should have been reviewed with an epilogue from the perspective of the modern concept of psychology.

Further reading about more analytical works by other authors, who were critical of Freud, both with regard to his personal life and the professional work, reveal a very murky side of the story marred by lies and deceit. Hence the contents of the book were certainly censured at multiple stages. It was indeed evident towards the end chapters that an attempt to prematurely terminate the discussion was being forced.