Quite often I am convinced that Internet, along with inherent madness and information age anxieties, is also a medium to experience and communicate newer thoughts and imaginations. This morning I spotted three interesting reads over the internet. The first one shows Impressive Driftwood Horse Sculptures by James Doran-Webb. Doran is a british-born artist who makes driftwood life size horse sculptors. One should definitely watch these horses coming live with oceans waves. The second one is a compilation of photographs taken by a russian women. She captures moments of engagement of her kids with animals on her farm. The pics are simply amazing and I really loved the one where one of her kid leans against the shoulders of a mastiff dog. The third one is a little specific to me as a designer. It belong to Wired News Archives. It is a commentary on the film ‘her‘ suggesting how interestingly the movies is not about technology but about people.
Yesterday I got a book from the library. In the night around the bedtime I started reading the book. The book was newly procured so the experience of keeping it in hands and flipping through its pages was really nice. The content of the book was interesting as well. But just a few pages later I found that somebody had already underlined different paragraphs and the book was more like a graffiti site. I was pissed off to the core. I wanted to find this guy to scold him for his doing. But then there was nothing which I could have really done. I didn’t know who was he and also it wasn’t my priority either. So I had to leave this thought.
Interestingly while going through the text I realized that the mannerism of reading a book is devoid of any personal touch. It is more evident especially when the ownership of the book is with a community or an institution. You can borrow the book but you had to return it in a condition as it was never issued to anyone. How could this be possible? How can we expect everyone to be the same and then either reward them or punish them if they deviate from this expectation. Also it is often seen that the reader doesn’t underline each and every line in the book. Instead he underlines few very specific portions of the text. And if a book can be taken as a medium where an author tries to talk to his reader than perhaps these specific portions (now underlined) of the text are the moments when this talk becomes most intense. Would it be reasonable to expect this communication to simply being a monologue one? Rather it seems that every time a reader marks a certain text with a graphite underline he tries to enter into a dialogue with the author. No matter whether the reader is in agreement with authors arguments or not but he surely tries to convey that the author has written something worth listening in those lines.
Yes it seems so! Swimming isn’t simply any other sport. One can be economic and see this as an usual form of exercising, or else one can praise it as the best exercise or sport for our body. But it just doesn’t cease there. I started learning to swim almost in the beginning of summer 2002. But somehow I couldn’t follow it for more than a week or two. It is only after Jan 2011 that I could resume it back. So, although I had a prior exposure, I had to start all the way again. And after spending months in the pool I realize that swimming isn’t simply a sport, rather its altogether a different paradigm of human experience.
As soon as one enters into a pool and tries to swim, the liberty of breathing in the air vanishes. One had to acknowledge the relevance of air which she had always taken for granted and then enter into a different space. A space where one has to deploy strategies to have her cup of oxygen. Its is fairly a difficult lesson. Alongside one also gets the idea that there is a different medium to move in. To befriend a stranger one has to first take all the fears out associated with the stranger, similarly one has to befriend the water first. Even to practice a push against the wall, one is required to take her head below the water surface. Unless one comes with the psyche that she is going to befriend the water and that there isn’t going to be any harm, it would be difficult for her to do so. It is only after this friendship between oneself and water that she can learn further. Then there starts endless efforts to master the posture, and rehearse the strokes. A constant fine tuning with an awareness of one’s own action are the only instruments here. This is a fine learning too. One learns not only her limits but also the idea of ‘watch the self’. It is only after practicing again and again can one get the rhythm and pattern of body movement while breathing in and breathing out. I see a lot of people around doing all kind of stuff in water and earlier I used to gaze in awe. But now I, kind of, can reason it out. They haven’t learn swimming. What they know is to overcome their fears, and embrace a different medium. And as you can have a good time amongst your friends so can happen in water too once you befriend it. I see lifeguards raising ‘timeout alarms’ everyday to get people out of the pool 🙂
I woke up this morning at around 7 … had a bath and then somehow again went to sleep only to woke up at 9 to rush to my office. Within this time, I had quite an unusual dream, and it goes like this.
I was climbing up the staircase to get to my flat… but the steps were getting smaller and smaller with lesser and lesser foot space to use. This didn’t affect me much in the beginning as it seemed like a visual illusion to me but it did slow me down. I just continued as I had to get to my flat after returning from a day’s work. Slowly and slowly quite alike “Alice climbing up the tree to get to the wonderland”, I got to a point where all the steps finally vanished and I found myself gaping through a ventilation window into someone’s drawing room. Even those present in the room, a family of possibly 3 members were surprised seeing a stranger looking at them through the ventilation window but they quickly resettled as if nothing had actually happened. They gave me a feeling that they had many such experiences. As if they knew that the staircase end at their ventilation window. So every now and then they had some stranger looking at them. If I recall there were three people in the room, a man in his early 40s with his wife and a kid around 12-13 years old with chubby cheeks.
I knew that I had a flat in this building and the only way to get there were those strange staircase. So I had no option but to follow whatever came next. I stepped into their house with an excuse on my face, telling to myself that its OK to use their house to get to my flat. Apparently the family stayed quite indifferent too. They kept doing whatever they were busy with. For few seconds, I sat on the couch with the kid.. trying to dust off my clothes. I also gather the stuff which I had dropped on the floor while I was jumping down from the ventilation opening. While I was taking this little break I saw that the family had exactly the same cap and also the same model of the cellphone as mine. So for once when I got hold of my stuff, I was a little confused about its ownership. But then I had to make my move. I got up, pressed chubby cheeks of this kid and gently stepped out of their house. By this time, I woke up and my dream ended!
I was really surpirsed by this dream and was wondering how could I remember it so well. Its very rare with me that I could remember any of my bedtime dreams.