Most of my dreams are what most people dream. Yeah you got it right! The wet ones! Explicitly stating them here would be a bad Idea. Dreams that can be stated publicly with Shiv Sena approval are rare and far between.
Hence this Everest dream of mine is somewhat of an exception. It doesn’t contain the normal quota of voluptuous babes and kinky wear. Nor does it have white saris and aunties in the rain (It does have a nude Sherpa (female!!!!) though). In fact it is so alien to my usual train of thought that sometimes I wonder if somebody “planted” it there. Anyways what makes it so different is that I am actually trying to fulfill it. Hope I have better luck with this one than with the wet part, believe me, those are really hard to fulfill (as if you didn’t know!).
Let me elaborate the dream a bit. The picture looks something like this when I see it in my head. I am standing on top of Mount Everest. On my right hand I will have the national flag. A Ray-Ban anti-glare glass fits my eyes. Instead of a skull cap, I will have a red towel (chumanna thorthu) wrapped around my head, I have communist tendencies you see, so the color. I will be wearing a Kitex vest and lungi (Sarong). On my left hand I will be holding the poster “Chandrans chayakada” (Chandran’s Tea shop). A beedi (cigarette) hanging from my lips.
The reader is requested to abstain from immaterial queries like “how will you wear a lungi on Everest?”, “are you mad?” etc. To all such frivolous questions my answer is “I am a proud mallu and this is how I dream!”
On my right side stands Mr. Shyam Chand Kalakat, my adorable room mate and compatriot and co-climber clothed in similar fashion. The only difference is that his left hand holds a camera.
The next part of the dream goes something like this. As we climb to the summit, I will ask Shyam to set his foot on the summit first, he refuses and asks me to do the same. We may be low on oxygen, our brain cells may be dying by the millions, but courtesy is courtesy no matter what. After a long session of bickering, we decide to step on it together.
Both of us being expert at double crossing each other, we both try to step first. The result is a small avalanche that covers Nepal/China in ice for the next millennia (Did I forget to mention my sadistic urges??).
To continue with the realistic part of my dream, (stop laughing!!!) our Sherpa (remember he is a she!) now does a belly dance and then we do our Salsa and then… ok, ok, this is getting wet again, let me discontinue!
This is what happens when you try to write out a dream, it looks dis-jointed and as badly edited as any other Bollywood film.
To start from the start, we start from the base camp. There is a low humming wind, visibility is 0 and our lungis are a-flutter. I grip my rope like there is no tomorrow and take one painful step by painful step. The going is slow, the elements against us and Shyam is nowhere to be seen (visibility being what it is). Suddenly I see a flash, it takes my de-oxygenated mind a few minutes to register that it is no lighting flash but that dumb camera freak Shyam taking pictures (you wouldn’t believe the lengths he will go to get a pic!).
I use the choicest of market language to bring the bugger back to his non-existent senses and get back in line. This super human effort would have tired a lesser mortal. But you forget that I am the dreamer cum author cum lead of the story. I take it like a Sunday morning stroll to the church. Suddenly the wind picks up, and we find ourselves in the middle of a howling tornado. The going just got tough but the tough (read me) gets going now. With superhuman effort and raw will power, I manage to trudge along all this while pulling up a sensless Shyam (You want your version? you write your blog!).
All of a sudden, I feel the rope slacken. The wind has dislodged it! A lesser being would have quailed, but me being me, I don’t give up. It is instinct that shows me the path. It is determination that keeps me going. It is hope that keeps me alive but above all it is the thought of the Sherpa which drives me to these superhuman feats! As Mohanlal says, who wouldn’t want a “hot blanket” in these cold conditions? His dialogue, like my blog may be out of taste, but definitely apt for the situ.
Just as we think that the worst has come to pass, along comes an avalanche and all people except the Sherpa, me and Shyam are killed (told you I was sadistic!). After all, when this dream is made into a movie, who will pay for all the extras? All said and done, it is so much better to kill them all off….:)
The trek is now a matter of life and death, but we keep at it with dogged determination. In the end, even Mother Nature accepts defeat and steps down the tempo of her capricious elements. So much so that by the time we reach the summit, we have perfect conditions for photography. My daydream conforms to the “pictures-speak-a-thousand-words” concept so I am not surprised that at the most critical place we have perfect conditions.
Coming back to the nude Sherpa ********** (censored by Shiv Sena VHP and all other keepers of our 5000 year old tradition.)
The end as they say, comes swiftly. So let me skip over the return journey and jump to the publicity. Our names are splashed across all Malayalam news papers (and the odd national ones too), hailed as the first Malayalees to conquer Mount Everest. Malayala Manorama devotes the full first page on us, complete with the route we took and a red heading (36 size font) “Avarachen Everestil”. Meetings with dignitaries, dinners with the elite and inaugurations by the truck load follow. After months of partying, corporations come forward to sponsor us and we spend the rest of our life doing nothing but spending the money**
*To the non-malayalee, the heading means “Abraham on/at Everest”.
**I may be a sadist but I am still a sucker for happy endings.
********** You will find this at desibaba.com.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Pulikunnel house, my Grandmother and a doctor.
This month I visited Pulikunnel house once again. It had been a long time since I went there (Pulikunnel house is my mother’s ancestral home). The reasons for visit, being a family get together. It was a low key affair compared to the 100 strong crowds that used to gather there for occasions like marriage, manasammatham etc.
My mother, being on very good terms with her mother, used to dump me and my brother there on all vacations till my grandmother passed away. We used to have two months of unparalleled fun. At all times there was a crowd there. Cousins, aunts, babies, wizened old men, the works!
To add to the human melee was the innumerable insects, hens, cats, cows and all such God’s creations. Add to that acres and acres of rubber, all types of trees (on which we honed our aerobic and acrobatic skills), big and small brooks, hills and boulders on the background, well it was a kid’s paradise. I am sure that it would have won hands down on comparison with any ultra-modern kid’s park.
Ammachi (our grandmother), was the pivot on which the house revolved. She was an excellent cook. The memory of her jack-fruit chips makes ones palate melt even to this day. The name of Bertie Wooster’s aunt’s French cook eludes me. But to P.G Wodehouse fans, I guess you must have got a fair idea of her culinary talents by now.
Kids, especially pampered ones like yours truly are bad eaters. My mother usually used the “round-eye-treatment”, “shove-the-food-in” and “plain-old-cane-and-blackmail” methods to get me to eat. Ammachi however used the much more diplomatic “story-for-food” program. Where she told the story and we ate the food and everyone was happy. This feeding program was made tougher by the fact that on most days we preferred having our food in the play houses we made on top of the adjoining hill. And/or in the shed where Appan (grandfather, but somehow we call him Appan) stored all the coconuts.
With the advent of the pizza age, the ceremonious lunch seems to have taken a back seat. I didn’t like ceremonious lunches much myself. Problem was there was an order in which to eat, etiquette to be followed, rules to be obeyed and all that hog wash. I am personally a fan of the pizza life but I still wouldn’t mind having that sort of lunch every Onam.
But that was not all. If ever there was an adventurous grandmother, then it was she.
As part of the “Grand Child Pampering Program” she used to take us all over the rubber country (Kottayam District) and allow us “holy baths” in all kinds of small, medium and big brooks. The reason for these circumambulations was ostentatiously “visits to old and dying relatives”. On rare occasions she used to take a dip herself, much to the consternation of older cousins who felt that she was a bit more wanting in her “modesty”.
On such journeys, on the way back, if it was already too late, she would make us tell the rosary in the car itself. That was one thing she was strict on. That her grand children should grow up pious and God fearing. But at least as far as my memory goes she was not "pious" strictly in the religious sense. But her life was.
Every time I reached Pulikunnel, I would run to the kitchen to see her and she would invariably pick me up grunting at how big I had grown over the year. Once she sprained/broke her arm (I don’t remember which) and my sister (Marina) tells me that I asked Ammachi to pat me to sleep. She patted me with her good arm, but I was not happy with that. I badgered her to pat me with her sprained arm and poor woman, she actually did that. Of course, I have decided to take a leaf out Kerala politics and “vehemently deny” that such a thing ever took place! A figment of an overstretched imagination no doubt!
Before the advent of distilled books on G.K, people genrally had proper G.K regarding their environment and acute practical knowledge about everything that was worth knowing. Ammachi was no exception. She passed on to us gems of knowledge that no G.K book could ever give. After all, I know that “thottaal vaadi” is a medicinal plant useful for small cuts and bruises and I know how to use this. But what do I do with “the first man on moon was Neil Armstrong” info?
Talking of medicine, how can one ever forget trips to Dr. N.E. Eeapens with Ammachi. English medicine was never much her strong point and to questions like “pallu maravicho” (do you feel the anesthetic?) the typical answer would be “maravichilla” (no affect) till he gets exasperated and says “aah, athrem maravichathu mathi” (that’s enough of waiting for the anesthetic to take affect), let me pull out your teeth.
I remember him taking out my teeth while I was talking, as if by magic! In fact, I only understood that it had been taken out when he gave it to me to keep as a souvenir.
For her the end came rather quickly. She did not have to suffer for too long. I guess at most she was sick for half a month or so (not sure here, cousins/Joechan can confirm).
Coming back to the house, it now has a new coat of paint and I had a camera. The rest is pasted below for all of u to see (Yeah, I wish, I had an SLR).
My mother, being on very good terms with her mother, used to dump me and my brother there on all vacations till my grandmother passed away. We used to have two months of unparalleled fun. At all times there was a crowd there. Cousins, aunts, babies, wizened old men, the works!
To add to the human melee was the innumerable insects, hens, cats, cows and all such God’s creations. Add to that acres and acres of rubber, all types of trees (on which we honed our aerobic and acrobatic skills), big and small brooks, hills and boulders on the background, well it was a kid’s paradise. I am sure that it would have won hands down on comparison with any ultra-modern kid’s park.
Ammachi (our grandmother), was the pivot on which the house revolved. She was an excellent cook. The memory of her jack-fruit chips makes ones palate melt even to this day. The name of Bertie Wooster’s aunt’s French cook eludes me. But to P.G Wodehouse fans, I guess you must have got a fair idea of her culinary talents by now.
Kids, especially pampered ones like yours truly are bad eaters. My mother usually used the “round-eye-treatment”, “shove-the-food-in” and “plain-old-cane-and-blackmail” methods to get me to eat. Ammachi however used the much more diplomatic “story-for-food” program. Where she told the story and we ate the food and everyone was happy. This feeding program was made tougher by the fact that on most days we preferred having our food in the play houses we made on top of the adjoining hill. And/or in the shed where Appan (grandfather, but somehow we call him Appan) stored all the coconuts.
With the advent of the pizza age, the ceremonious lunch seems to have taken a back seat. I didn’t like ceremonious lunches much myself. Problem was there was an order in which to eat, etiquette to be followed, rules to be obeyed and all that hog wash. I am personally a fan of the pizza life but I still wouldn’t mind having that sort of lunch every Onam.
But that was not all. If ever there was an adventurous grandmother, then it was she.
As part of the “Grand Child Pampering Program” she used to take us all over the rubber country (Kottayam District) and allow us “holy baths” in all kinds of small, medium and big brooks. The reason for these circumambulations was ostentatiously “visits to old and dying relatives”. On rare occasions she used to take a dip herself, much to the consternation of older cousins who felt that she was a bit more wanting in her “modesty”.
On such journeys, on the way back, if it was already too late, she would make us tell the rosary in the car itself. That was one thing she was strict on. That her grand children should grow up pious and God fearing. But at least as far as my memory goes she was not "pious" strictly in the religious sense. But her life was.
Every time I reached Pulikunnel, I would run to the kitchen to see her and she would invariably pick me up grunting at how big I had grown over the year. Once she sprained/broke her arm (I don’t remember which) and my sister (Marina) tells me that I asked Ammachi to pat me to sleep. She patted me with her good arm, but I was not happy with that. I badgered her to pat me with her sprained arm and poor woman, she actually did that. Of course, I have decided to take a leaf out Kerala politics and “vehemently deny” that such a thing ever took place! A figment of an overstretched imagination no doubt!
Before the advent of distilled books on G.K, people genrally had proper G.K regarding their environment and acute practical knowledge about everything that was worth knowing. Ammachi was no exception. She passed on to us gems of knowledge that no G.K book could ever give. After all, I know that “thottaal vaadi” is a medicinal plant useful for small cuts and bruises and I know how to use this. But what do I do with “the first man on moon was Neil Armstrong” info?
Talking of medicine, how can one ever forget trips to Dr. N.E. Eeapens with Ammachi. English medicine was never much her strong point and to questions like “pallu maravicho” (do you feel the anesthetic?) the typical answer would be “maravichilla” (no affect) till he gets exasperated and says “aah, athrem maravichathu mathi” (that’s enough of waiting for the anesthetic to take affect), let me pull out your teeth.
I remember him taking out my teeth while I was talking, as if by magic! In fact, I only understood that it had been taken out when he gave it to me to keep as a souvenir.
For her the end came rather quickly. She did not have to suffer for too long. I guess at most she was sick for half a month or so (not sure here, cousins/Joechan can confirm).
Coming back to the house, it now has a new coat of paint and I had a camera. The rest is pasted below for all of u to see (Yeah, I wish, I had an SLR).
The house, it looks rather like a fortress from this angle.
nalukettu.
inside out.
Frontal
Frontal Right(I still haven’t mastered the padinjarae, karotae, thekkae and vadakae usages, so kindly bear with the right and left...:))
Frontal Left
TV Time, did you notice the clarity. I clearly remember seeing more grains than images on this TV for close to half a decade!
Chilling out on the easy chair.
Find the missing tree contest. The Mylanji tree is still there but something is definitely missing.
Thozhuthu
Rubber trees minus chocolate kuzhi
Flowers and trees. Anybody know what that "flowery tree" is called?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Great expectations
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a lorry driver. What with every second auntie you meet demanding to hear your nursery rhymes and every third auntie asking “Monae, what do you want to be when you grow up?” This ambition did not remain secret for too long.
For some reason I did not get much encouragement from my parents about following my dreams. Those were the uncivilized pre-alchemist days of my youth. So instead of sticking on to my dream no matter what, I tried different variations like bus driver, car driver and even train driver. All of these evoked much the same response.
Things were looking quite bleak, when one day I said I wanted to be a pilot! This time around my father did not give me that well rehearsed condescending smile that he usually reserved for such career outbursts. Unfortunately for him, this state of enlightenment did not last too long. By the end of the month I had enough of flying imaginary airplanes and demanded a role change to priest. I had taken a fancy to those trendy “lohas” worn by Indian priests. Fortunately for me, this did not last too long either.
Next in line was scientist. I still wouldn’t mind being one, even though I fall rather short(ok, ok very short!) of the required IQ’s. I had ideas related to running trains on water, sending rockets to the parallel universe (idea snitched from Amar Chitra Katha) and basically impossible things or things considered impossible whichever way you take it.
Thus I was contemplating the design of my latest space ship when the phone rang and Amma asked me to take care of the Dosa on the stove. To the Dosa ignorant, making a Dosa requires that you toast both sides. So you need to turn it over to the other side when one side is finished and this was my current responsibility. I just loved doing it. When Amma came back, she was pretty happy to see that
1) I was still in one piece
2) I had not managed to set the kitchen on fire.
So, she didn’t mind too much about the burnt Dosa.
That was when I decided to be a chef. Amma was all for it. Looking back I see a bit of self interest acting there. Her bright intellect must have calculated the pros of having a good chef in the family. Anyways, with her support I didn’t mind Appa’s evident displeasure at my latest career choice.
Then one day I wrote a poem. It was not too bad for a kid my age. With one famous writer in the family and some more not so famous ones writing here and there and everywhere, I got immense support to be a poet/writer. Now I must confess one quirk in my character (the jealous whisper that my whole character is a quirk but more of that later). I am a rebel and a non-conformist at heart so when you encourage me to do something you are actually doing the opposite. Thus even after all the encouragement and “hoola-boola” surrounding my imminent rise to “poet-dom” nothing happened. In fact I steadfastly refused to write even one more poem and that was the end of that.
All this time I was forcibly made to attend a school and get “educated”. My dream all throughout high school was to be the richest man on earth. The only imaginative and sound part of the dream being that I would not raise my little finger to achieve this feat! Let me put it this way... "My belief in lotteries was rather high during this period".
Here, I would also like to borrow from Larry’s (second richest man on earth) speech to Harvard graduates. It seems that there is no graduate in living memory who has made it to the top ten richest people in the world. All of that exclusive club having come from school dropouts! Now that was one thing that they didn’t teach me at school!
Later, experts found out that education actually reduces your imagination and risk taking power. Must be true, coz the higher I went in high school the lesser I dreamt about being something. I hate experts who give this kind of information rather late. It is like telling a career smoker at the end of that fiery career that science has found you just fired your lungs!
To swim with the tide is easy. Nobody, even my arch enemies have ever alleged that I was a hard working, motivated and or driven guy. But I did make a whimper or two, regarding my career choices. I half heartedly decided to do commerce which was whole heartedly rejected by my father. The general population was doing engineering and that was what I was also supposed to do! And I did…:(
The old and now dying scientist career thingy got a fillip during my engineering days. Especially, when I was doing my project and later while trying for my masters.
For most of my engineering though (other than for those pathetic “scientific” interludes) I dreamt of being a drug pusher/drug lord. As I saw it, society was far too melancholic and suicidal. Drugs were the new coming thing. I even did some market study and found out that this segment had the steepest supply demand curves! There was huge demand and no supply. It was a guaranteed run away success. And anyways, I was a sucker for curves! This dream is however rather long lived compared to my other dreams. I still have it you know.
Then one day I read Paulo Coelho. This book is all about following your dream, about your destiny and being one with the world and all that crap. If I do meet Mr. Paulo Coelho, I will definitely ask him about this drug lord thingy. But till then, general society is as usual playing spoil sport with my ambitions and destiny and believe me, I got no beginners luck here either!
Last rites to my chef dream was given during my initial bachelor days when I had to do the dishwashing after the cooking. Male dominance is the way to go here I guess. After this experience, I have taken my own advice to marry a typical Indian girl who will do the dishwashing.
These days I wonder whether Charles Dickens had a similar life before he wrote the novel!
For some reason I did not get much encouragement from my parents about following my dreams. Those were the uncivilized pre-alchemist days of my youth. So instead of sticking on to my dream no matter what, I tried different variations like bus driver, car driver and even train driver. All of these evoked much the same response.
Things were looking quite bleak, when one day I said I wanted to be a pilot! This time around my father did not give me that well rehearsed condescending smile that he usually reserved for such career outbursts. Unfortunately for him, this state of enlightenment did not last too long. By the end of the month I had enough of flying imaginary airplanes and demanded a role change to priest. I had taken a fancy to those trendy “lohas” worn by Indian priests. Fortunately for me, this did not last too long either.
Next in line was scientist. I still wouldn’t mind being one, even though I fall rather short(ok, ok very short!) of the required IQ’s. I had ideas related to running trains on water, sending rockets to the parallel universe (idea snitched from Amar Chitra Katha) and basically impossible things or things considered impossible whichever way you take it.
Thus I was contemplating the design of my latest space ship when the phone rang and Amma asked me to take care of the Dosa on the stove. To the Dosa ignorant, making a Dosa requires that you toast both sides. So you need to turn it over to the other side when one side is finished and this was my current responsibility. I just loved doing it. When Amma came back, she was pretty happy to see that
1) I was still in one piece
2) I had not managed to set the kitchen on fire.
So, she didn’t mind too much about the burnt Dosa.
That was when I decided to be a chef. Amma was all for it. Looking back I see a bit of self interest acting there. Her bright intellect must have calculated the pros of having a good chef in the family. Anyways, with her support I didn’t mind Appa’s evident displeasure at my latest career choice.
Then one day I wrote a poem. It was not too bad for a kid my age. With one famous writer in the family and some more not so famous ones writing here and there and everywhere, I got immense support to be a poet/writer. Now I must confess one quirk in my character (the jealous whisper that my whole character is a quirk but more of that later). I am a rebel and a non-conformist at heart so when you encourage me to do something you are actually doing the opposite. Thus even after all the encouragement and “hoola-boola” surrounding my imminent rise to “poet-dom” nothing happened. In fact I steadfastly refused to write even one more poem and that was the end of that.
All this time I was forcibly made to attend a school and get “educated”. My dream all throughout high school was to be the richest man on earth. The only imaginative and sound part of the dream being that I would not raise my little finger to achieve this feat! Let me put it this way... "My belief in lotteries was rather high during this period".
Here, I would also like to borrow from Larry’s (second richest man on earth) speech to Harvard graduates. It seems that there is no graduate in living memory who has made it to the top ten richest people in the world. All of that exclusive club having come from school dropouts! Now that was one thing that they didn’t teach me at school!
Later, experts found out that education actually reduces your imagination and risk taking power. Must be true, coz the higher I went in high school the lesser I dreamt about being something. I hate experts who give this kind of information rather late. It is like telling a career smoker at the end of that fiery career that science has found you just fired your lungs!
To swim with the tide is easy. Nobody, even my arch enemies have ever alleged that I was a hard working, motivated and or driven guy. But I did make a whimper or two, regarding my career choices. I half heartedly decided to do commerce which was whole heartedly rejected by my father. The general population was doing engineering and that was what I was also supposed to do! And I did…:(
The old and now dying scientist career thingy got a fillip during my engineering days. Especially, when I was doing my project and later while trying for my masters.
For most of my engineering though (other than for those pathetic “scientific” interludes) I dreamt of being a drug pusher/drug lord. As I saw it, society was far too melancholic and suicidal. Drugs were the new coming thing. I even did some market study and found out that this segment had the steepest supply demand curves! There was huge demand and no supply. It was a guaranteed run away success. And anyways, I was a sucker for curves! This dream is however rather long lived compared to my other dreams. I still have it you know.
Then one day I read Paulo Coelho. This book is all about following your dream, about your destiny and being one with the world and all that crap. If I do meet Mr. Paulo Coelho, I will definitely ask him about this drug lord thingy. But till then, general society is as usual playing spoil sport with my ambitions and destiny and believe me, I got no beginners luck here either!
Last rites to my chef dream was given during my initial bachelor days when I had to do the dishwashing after the cooking. Male dominance is the way to go here I guess. After this experience, I have taken my own advice to marry a typical Indian girl who will do the dishwashing.
These days I wonder whether Charles Dickens had a similar life before he wrote the novel!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Life on a bench
“adhikam aayaal amrithum visham”
-Malayalam proverb meaning too much of anything is bad.
Every techie worth his salt would have spent at least some time on bench. To the uninitiated, IT companies do not have any "benches". Benching is the term used to signify that you are not in any project.
Usually this means that you get no back-breaking schedules. You do not need to attend totally useless meetings where somebody speaks and nobody listens. You don’t need to fill in your time sheet and most importantly nobody looks over your shoulder to see the “status” of the work.
A month on bench is considered ideal per year. It helps to rejuvenate body and soul. Renews your outlook on the industry and just about gets you raring to go for the next project.
Bench has its disadvantages too. Usually you don’t get a computer and free access to internet. Sometimes you don’t have a seat, let alone a bench! And under most circumstances you can only go to the library and re-read some crap magazine that you have already re-read twice. Sometimes I wonder whether this is somebody’s doing (The library thing you know). I have never been in a library for the whole duration of my college days and now with nothing to study and no notes to make, I suddenly find myself in the library more and more!
An even better situation is when you are in a project and still do not have anything to do. To achieve this “perfect” state you need to do some real good deeds all along your many incarnations. In this situation you enjoy all the benefits of “benching” while you suffer none of its ill effects. I must have been one real nice guy in my previous incarnation coz, I find myself in this very pleasurable situation currently.
The pictures pasted below should give you a rather reasonable idea about what we are up to in these days of peace and quiet.
Problem is that even this “perfect” state can get to your nerves after about 3 months of doing nothing.
-Malayalam proverb meaning too much of anything is bad.
Every techie worth his salt would have spent at least some time on bench. To the uninitiated, IT companies do not have any "benches". Benching is the term used to signify that you are not in any project.
Usually this means that you get no back-breaking schedules. You do not need to attend totally useless meetings where somebody speaks and nobody listens. You don’t need to fill in your time sheet and most importantly nobody looks over your shoulder to see the “status” of the work.
A month on bench is considered ideal per year. It helps to rejuvenate body and soul. Renews your outlook on the industry and just about gets you raring to go for the next project.
Bench has its disadvantages too. Usually you don’t get a computer and free access to internet. Sometimes you don’t have a seat, let alone a bench! And under most circumstances you can only go to the library and re-read some crap magazine that you have already re-read twice. Sometimes I wonder whether this is somebody’s doing (The library thing you know). I have never been in a library for the whole duration of my college days and now with nothing to study and no notes to make, I suddenly find myself in the library more and more!
An even better situation is when you are in a project and still do not have anything to do. To achieve this “perfect” state you need to do some real good deeds all along your many incarnations. In this situation you enjoy all the benefits of “benching” while you suffer none of its ill effects. I must have been one real nice guy in my previous incarnation coz, I find myself in this very pleasurable situation currently.
The pictures pasted below should give you a rather reasonable idea about what we are up to in these days of peace and quiet.
Problem is that even this “perfect” state can get to your nerves after about 3 months of doing nothing.
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