Thoughts on life and peace of mind

I discovered this little gem of advice decades ago in an almirah in Father Gilson's library (I shall never call it by any other name), in the days when I was in charge. The words are not mine, and I don't know whose they are. Doesn't matter: it is the words which are valuable, not the source. They have helped me greatly to navigate through life. I post it here in the hope that they would be of similar use to a few others. Needless to say, comments and queries of a thoughtful nature would be welcome.

I am happy to see that the post titled The worship of the wealthy, written back in 2007, has come back into the most-read list after ages. Based on something written in 1915, it is more relevant than ever in 2024. 

A special thanks to Swarnavo Sinha for his recent comment on my last blogpost, because it has set me wondering, and I am waiting for some clarification.

I recently finished watching the entire  Young Sheldon series on Amazon Prime, and I can declare that I enjoyed it far more than The Big Bang Theory, which is, after all, not much more than slapstick for the most part.

Millionaire in one sense at least!

I started writing this blog in mid-2006, after being prodded by one of my old boys to start writing a diary on the internet (I hadn't heard of weblogs - soon shortened to 'blogs' - before that). As with everything I undertake, I launched on this adventure very seriously determined to continue for a long time. It took years of patient, regular work before the page views counter reached the 100,000 mark, and then it began to accelerate. The last 100,000 has been crossed in barely eight months, and now I am a 'millionaire'. Not an achievement to be proud of, one part of my mind is saying, considering that in the age of Instagram Reels any pouting half-naked bimbo swinging her hips like a crazed monkey gets a million views within weeks, if not days. But, says the other part, is your blog something comparable to that? I take pride in believing that while such 'million-viewed' idiots are watched only by creatures of their own intellectual and aesthetic level, and are as promptly forgotten as they become 'famous', my blog, as I wrote many years ago, draws only people who like to think - deeply, in a sustained and intelligent way, about many really important things in life, who can read and enjoy reading, and who have come to feel that they gain something substantial and of lasting value to themselves by continuing to read what I write. That kind of readership is naturally very small in every land and age, but most especially in India today (I am assuming that the vast majority of my readers are Indians): and given that, a) sticking to the job for eighteen long years and b) reaching the million-page views landmark, taken together, is no mean achievement. Perhaps, at long last, I can start thinking of myself as a writer. And so I shall continue to write as long as I can, and still have non-trivial things to say.

Here in Durgapur, we got the first real taste of the monsoon this year over the last weekend. Thanks to a severe depression somewhere in the Bay, it has been raining almost continuously and middling-heavily since Friday the 13th night, and the sky is overcast even tonight, the air is squally and everything damp and rather smelly all around. If the weather app is to be believed (it shouldn't, judging by recent experience) it should clear up by tomorrow. May it rain some more before the pujo: we have had too little of it.

I had thought of writing about several things, but they escape me tonight. No matter, I'll get back as soon as they come back to me. 

P.S.: For latecomers among my ex students, if you want to write in with a good memory of your days with me as a few already have, click on the link I have pasted permanently on the right-hand sidebar (see web version on your phone), which will take you to the Google form.

Teachers' Day surliness

I kept my phone silent almost throughout yesterday. Otherwise I'd have been driven to distraction by the constant pinging (or whatever they are calling  it these days) - dozens of phone calls and hundreds of 'Happy Teachers' Day' messages - and could neither take classes nor attend to visitors as I do every normal day. I said a curt thank you to all those who posted in various Whatsapp groups of current and ex-students: to the countless individual messages, I did not respond at all, simply because it is beyond me. 

Well, no, not really - there is another reason. Such messages, coming from people who choose to remember you as a ritual on one single day in the year, and that too mostly driven by the herd instinct - 'I am sending a message because so many of my peers are doing it, and I am terrified of being left out' - frankly bore and irritate me. No offence to students - I feel the same about Fathers' Day, Friendship Day, Valentine's Day, Earth Day and all the thousands of other special 'days' around the year. If you have to remember any particular person or event only one day a year because custom and habit dictate it, well, it's worth nothing in my book. There is a tiny number of old boys and girls who remember and care and keep in touch all year round, year after year, and those are the only ones who matter to me. Sorry about the rest. Pause for half a second before you take offence: wouldn't you feel the same about people who get in touch with you dripping love and gratitude only on one particular day of the year? At least if you have been dealing with it for many decades at a stretch? Honestly?

This is the post with which this blog is probably going to cross the one million page views mark. I'll be watching...