Message in a Bottle
The following post was written on the morning of the 4th of December, 2004, but was not published due to a crash in my computer. Only two people, Shamanth and PB, read the original draft on that morning. However most of it was luckily saved. I can not, at this moment, identify with the mood I was in when I wrote it, but I have not touched it, except for this forward, to explain the delay in it's publication.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This will be my last post from Tapti 108 this semester. Today, the Raven flies north for the winter.
In the midst of packing all my scattered belongings, I suddenly happened to notice my cell phone inbox. In it were exactly seven messages.
1) check 10.138.12.220 lemme know
2) I want to make a pilgrimage to the source of the holy river Tapti. Lovely intro da. Can I come with you?
3) That settles it. You are writing me an article on the bauls, a comprehensive one. I am glad to find a kindred soul.
4) Gult, do well in end sems. Best of luck da
5) Dark clouds, golden twilight and real pretty rainbow outside, ever drifting down the stream, life what is it but a dream-dodgson. just thought i would let you know, see ya
6)Not u too da. What did I do to u guys? Why cant u freaking stay out of my other world. I still have three years to live here with you. Please stay out of my life. I actually don't care now if u are offended.
7)Bye da. We r leaving now. Parents ask you to take care.
I really should delete all messages as soon as I get them. As Caulfield indicates, the very act of going back over the past is fraught with great emotions. Yet there are emotions which can not be suppressed, should not be forgotten. They are what makes us human, gives meaning to our lives.
My existence is defined by these messages. They are what links the island that I am with the great sea of humanity around me. They are my message in a bottle.
My sincerest apologies to anyone who is offended by this. That is not the aim. Never has been. This is about me, my life, my messages. The messages are a snapshot of the present moment, as well as a chronicle of my entire semester. And I want to write of them. Cell-fish you may call it....and I'll reply...good pun!
The first message is a tribute to one of the greatest developments in IIT this sem-the introduction of a LAN connecting all hostels, as well as the provision of internet connections to every room. That, coupled with my recent acquisition of a computer has changed greatly the pattern of my life in IIT. The convenience of submitting assignments from ones room instead of trudging all the way to the DCF, the pleasure of discovering all sorts of interesting music/movies/videos/software on the LAN led to my having built up a large collection of music, all of which was unfortunately lost when my hard disk crashed, but most of which has been recovered thanks to the owner of the computer whose proxy was given in the message, someone who I am proud to call a good friend of mine, someone who has the most amazing taste in music, someone who refuses to comment on this goddam blog, inspite of my repeated requests. My most heartfelt gratitude goes out to him, and also to the Diro and Dean and all else who made this possible.
The second refers to another major change in my life in IIT this sem- my shifting hostels to Tapti. After one year of freshers hostel, Tapti was indeed a welcome change. It is, IMHO, by a long way the best goddam hostel in IIT-M! The facilities, the mess food, the Tapti lights, the seniors, the freshies( one of whom wrote this message...), the hostel staff, the cats, the hostel spirit, the deer outside the window....I could go on forever extolling the virtues of Tapti, but for now, this should suffice.
The third refers to the Raven's Desk, something which I wanted to start for a long time, but finally managed to this sem, and something which has given me a lot of pleasure, and hopefully, has given you some too.
The rest of the four messages are what this article is about though.
Behind me, my clothes and books clamour for attention. The watch by my side ticks away. Time is not only not waiting, but it seems to be making a concerted effort to escape. The moment though still lies on me...I must finish this before I leave.
So I keep it short.
Saki once started a short story with a quotation, "A man is known by the company he keeps". Many, including me, believe that this maxim can be shortened to give it a wider scope-"A man is the company he keeps". Paulo Coelho, in the Alchemist, talks about the existence of the Universal Soul. In Hindu philosophy, the concept of the self as an illusion is a basic tenet. In Teddy, Salinger talks about the apple of logic, which we must spit in order to see the world in its true form. It is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to express my beliefs, for I am not possessed with the profound vision of Coelho, the deep spiritual knowledge of the ancient Hindu philosophers, or the beauty of Salinger's words. Yet I do have a firm belief in what I say, and I hope that it will lend some credence to my arguments, or perhaps, some meaning.
I am what my friends are, and what they make of me. For I do not feel I exist anywhere but in their minds. Sometimes I sit down and wonder who the hell I am, how I can be sure that I am really me. Sure the name on the book reads S.Banerjee, the name on the examination answer sheet reads Siddhartha, the name on my hostel jersey reads BOFi, the name on my sisters Rakhi card reads Bumpy Dada (don't even think of asking me what the hell that means!). But how do I know they refer to me? Maybe I actually live in the next room, and entered this one by mistake. When I look into a mirror, a stranger looks back at me, someone I see once a day when I comb my hair, on many days, never at all. So then...who the hell am I? I have read of astral projections, and often wish I could leave my body for a few moments and look down upon it, and know it's me. But I can't. I can not, by myself, verify my existence. And so, for myself, I do not exist.
But I do exist. How you ask? Well, when you ask the question, refer to me by name, and I'll exist. I exist in the minds of my friends, of people I've met. I exist when they call me, compliment me, chastize me....when they talk to me. Perhaps I even exist when they think of me. That is who I am-who you think I am. I exist in the seven messages on my cellphone. That is who I am.
Seven! In the Bible, God created the world in seven days. The Muslims believe in the existence of seven heavens. Antipater of Sidon talks of the seven wonders, Erasmus Desidarius of the seven cardinal sins, Ptolemy of the seven spheres, Ian Fleming of the Licence to Kill, Dr. Srinivasan of the seven segment display. And now I talk of my seven messages.
Suppose it were to all end here....now....today. No, no, don't complain, just hypothesize. That, for some reason, my plane crashes and all that is found of me is my cell phone. Then you would believe that my entire definition, at that moment, would be those seven messages. Now we can generalize this. These seven messages are who I am at this time. They are what makes me unique. Not my fingerprints. Not the twin strands of DNA which define my physical existence. No, I am more than just a mass of cells with some order and symmetry and rhythm. I am me. But me is not defined by my idea of me. Me is defined in those seven messages. Me is defined in my friends, some of whom may be thinking well of me now, some thinking ill, some not thinking of me now. Me is defined by their relationship with me, for that is my place in the universal soul, in God himself. Me is defined by attachment....the attachment I have to them...and hopefully they to me.
I can not thank everybody for all the happiness they have given me. That would take too long.
I can not apologize to everybody for all the pain I have given them. That would take too long.
So I write this. And so I pray to God...for thanksgiving...for forgiveness...for help.
This was supposed to be about the seven messages on my cell. In reality it, like all of my life, is about the people who are part of it.
At seven tonight I will be flying somewhere over the Bay of Bengal.
This, then, is my message in a bottle, which I now throw into the sea of my life. Go forth and help me connect to all around me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This will be my last post from Tapti 108 this semester. Today, the Raven flies north for the winter.
In the midst of packing all my scattered belongings, I suddenly happened to notice my cell phone inbox. In it were exactly seven messages.
1) check 10.138.12.220 lemme know
2) I want to make a pilgrimage to the source of the holy river Tapti. Lovely intro da. Can I come with you?
3) That settles it. You are writing me an article on the bauls, a comprehensive one. I am glad to find a kindred soul.
4) Gult, do well in end sems. Best of luck da
5) Dark clouds, golden twilight and real pretty rainbow outside, ever drifting down the stream, life what is it but a dream-dodgson. just thought i would let you know, see ya
6)Not u too da. What did I do to u guys? Why cant u freaking stay out of my other world. I still have three years to live here with you. Please stay out of my life. I actually don't care now if u are offended.
7)Bye da. We r leaving now. Parents ask you to take care.
I really should delete all messages as soon as I get them. As Caulfield indicates, the very act of going back over the past is fraught with great emotions. Yet there are emotions which can not be suppressed, should not be forgotten. They are what makes us human, gives meaning to our lives.
My existence is defined by these messages. They are what links the island that I am with the great sea of humanity around me. They are my message in a bottle.
My sincerest apologies to anyone who is offended by this. That is not the aim. Never has been. This is about me, my life, my messages. The messages are a snapshot of the present moment, as well as a chronicle of my entire semester. And I want to write of them. Cell-fish you may call it....and I'll reply...good pun!
The first message is a tribute to one of the greatest developments in IIT this sem-the introduction of a LAN connecting all hostels, as well as the provision of internet connections to every room. That, coupled with my recent acquisition of a computer has changed greatly the pattern of my life in IIT. The convenience of submitting assignments from ones room instead of trudging all the way to the DCF, the pleasure of discovering all sorts of interesting music/movies/videos/software on the LAN led to my having built up a large collection of music, all of which was unfortunately lost when my hard disk crashed, but most of which has been recovered thanks to the owner of the computer whose proxy was given in the message, someone who I am proud to call a good friend of mine, someone who has the most amazing taste in music, someone who refuses to comment on this goddam blog, inspite of my repeated requests. My most heartfelt gratitude goes out to him, and also to the Diro and Dean and all else who made this possible.
The second refers to another major change in my life in IIT this sem- my shifting hostels to Tapti. After one year of freshers hostel, Tapti was indeed a welcome change. It is, IMHO, by a long way the best goddam hostel in IIT-M! The facilities, the mess food, the Tapti lights, the seniors, the freshies( one of whom wrote this message...), the hostel staff, the cats, the hostel spirit, the deer outside the window....I could go on forever extolling the virtues of Tapti, but for now, this should suffice.
The third refers to the Raven's Desk, something which I wanted to start for a long time, but finally managed to this sem, and something which has given me a lot of pleasure, and hopefully, has given you some too.
The rest of the four messages are what this article is about though.
Behind me, my clothes and books clamour for attention. The watch by my side ticks away. Time is not only not waiting, but it seems to be making a concerted effort to escape. The moment though still lies on me...I must finish this before I leave.
So I keep it short.
Saki once started a short story with a quotation, "A man is known by the company he keeps". Many, including me, believe that this maxim can be shortened to give it a wider scope-"A man is the company he keeps". Paulo Coelho, in the Alchemist, talks about the existence of the Universal Soul. In Hindu philosophy, the concept of the self as an illusion is a basic tenet. In Teddy, Salinger talks about the apple of logic, which we must spit in order to see the world in its true form. It is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to express my beliefs, for I am not possessed with the profound vision of Coelho, the deep spiritual knowledge of the ancient Hindu philosophers, or the beauty of Salinger's words. Yet I do have a firm belief in what I say, and I hope that it will lend some credence to my arguments, or perhaps, some meaning.
I am what my friends are, and what they make of me. For I do not feel I exist anywhere but in their minds. Sometimes I sit down and wonder who the hell I am, how I can be sure that I am really me. Sure the name on the book reads S.Banerjee, the name on the examination answer sheet reads Siddhartha, the name on my hostel jersey reads BOFi, the name on my sisters Rakhi card reads Bumpy Dada (don't even think of asking me what the hell that means!). But how do I know they refer to me? Maybe I actually live in the next room, and entered this one by mistake. When I look into a mirror, a stranger looks back at me, someone I see once a day when I comb my hair, on many days, never at all. So then...who the hell am I? I have read of astral projections, and often wish I could leave my body for a few moments and look down upon it, and know it's me. But I can't. I can not, by myself, verify my existence. And so, for myself, I do not exist.
But I do exist. How you ask? Well, when you ask the question, refer to me by name, and I'll exist. I exist in the minds of my friends, of people I've met. I exist when they call me, compliment me, chastize me....when they talk to me. Perhaps I even exist when they think of me. That is who I am-who you think I am. I exist in the seven messages on my cellphone. That is who I am.
Seven! In the Bible, God created the world in seven days. The Muslims believe in the existence of seven heavens. Antipater of Sidon talks of the seven wonders, Erasmus Desidarius of the seven cardinal sins, Ptolemy of the seven spheres, Ian Fleming of the Licence to Kill, Dr. Srinivasan of the seven segment display. And now I talk of my seven messages.
Suppose it were to all end here....now....today. No, no, don't complain, just hypothesize. That, for some reason, my plane crashes and all that is found of me is my cell phone. Then you would believe that my entire definition, at that moment, would be those seven messages. Now we can generalize this. These seven messages are who I am at this time. They are what makes me unique. Not my fingerprints. Not the twin strands of DNA which define my physical existence. No, I am more than just a mass of cells with some order and symmetry and rhythm. I am me. But me is not defined by my idea of me. Me is defined in those seven messages. Me is defined in my friends, some of whom may be thinking well of me now, some thinking ill, some not thinking of me now. Me is defined by their relationship with me, for that is my place in the universal soul, in God himself. Me is defined by attachment....the attachment I have to them...and hopefully they to me.
I can not thank everybody for all the happiness they have given me. That would take too long.
I can not apologize to everybody for all the pain I have given them. That would take too long.
So I write this. And so I pray to God...for thanksgiving...for forgiveness...for help.
This was supposed to be about the seven messages on my cell. In reality it, like all of my life, is about the people who are part of it.
At seven tonight I will be flying somewhere over the Bay of Bengal.
This, then, is my message in a bottle, which I now throw into the sea of my life. Go forth and help me connect to all around me.
posted by Siddhartha Banerjee at 11:11 PM
22 Comments:
seven!! thats it?... I usually keep the thing overflowing so that every new message gives me the "No more space for new messages".. Then I delete one of the old ones and wait for the new one to come through...and try to guess who it would be from :)
Spitty... our phones dont seem to like each other.
k
You forgot, back in DPS, you are still known as Bongo!
But then, now you remain, TheBOFi
nice post. Just found that we do think alike in certains cases...
The Seven Ages Of Man
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in the time plays many parts,
His acts being Seven ages...
-William Shakespeare(As You Like It)
..And nice to know tht those seven messgs were a snapshot of your entire semester.Enjoyed reading the post as always.
Shorter? Please...
Been reading your blog for quite some time, its amazing... 'cos you're probably the only guy that can make senti stuff readable and actually enjoyable.
PS: The mandatory go-read-mine clause
Amazing post man! Could really relate to it and didnt mind the length of the post at all....and return favour's not an obligation ;)
BOFi
That's brilliant!
So lucid, and yet so profound. My speculations rests...
Write more!
Sanket
http://catcher.blogdrive.com
Aha, the comments on The Raven's Desk show how TheBoFi matters to people as much as people matter to him. Wanted to join in, even though I'd nothing to say except my customary 'nice', which I'd anyway told you that day.
Bofi that was an excellent post da.Happy Hols Bof.
Im trying to find a number to define my existence...is the number 42 taken by any chance...:D...
Hey BOF, have good hols! good post.
Btw, Msg. no. 6 seemed very intriguing! More light on that please!!!
"He looked at it in his lap, picked it off, looked at it in his hand, and then flicked it-sidearm-into the lake.
He then immediately looked up at Boo Boo, his eyes filled not with defiance but tears."
-Down at the Dinghy.
I wasn't really going to leave comment...post too beautiful to comment about and all but I wanted to let ya know that when you'll be sitting on an easy chair in the corridor of that farm house, listening to your Bose speakers play some Bengali music...you'll still see the deer and maybe, just maybe even without the bottle, He'll send you help if ya ever need it...
really requires talent to write so much .anyway chk out mine http://www.me-myself-and-maro.blogspot.com/.
hi u asked for my blog address
ashutoshg.blogspot.com
Ok...as a rule, I had decided to not comment on my own blog, but decided to break that for once....
(The BoFi takes out an Oscar style thank you list....)
Firstly, massive humongous great huge big thanks to Keerthi, Bhavya, Bhaand, Shamanth, Niyati, JD, Aziz, Ramya, Sanket, Yell-mutt, Vinod, Sneha, Maro and Ashuthosh for taking the trouble to read through my goddam ramblings, and be kind enough to post a comment at the end...all were seriously appreciated, and will sustain the Raven on his further journeys....
Next, a big thanks to PB, and others who have for some reason read the goddam thing, but refused to comment on the blog....
This post was primarily intended as some sort of apology to some people, and I seriously hope they have read it too...and accepted it.
I somehow find it hard to post from home, which would explain the long gap. Anyways, hopefully that will be remedied.
Thanks a icosadodecaoctaseptawateverillion for reading the Raven's Desk.
amazing post da!!
hi
great blog ....
i guess i am a bit late in commenting i hadnt checked blog in a long time...
and to quote popeye(i dunno what reminded me of that!!!)
"I'm Popeye the sailor man
I'm Popeye the sailor man
I am what I am
And that's all what I am
I'm Popeye the sailor man"
well i guess thats pretty much what i thought after i read ur blog... "happy birthday!!!!"
merry christmas and happy newyear
Hmmph!
I guess uv'e also been caught by this syndrome "existential anxiety".
Anyways...this posting was a great tribute to your friends.
If you wanna know my view of "existential anxiety" and issues related to the same...check out
http://juggernautvatsan.blogspot.com/2004/12/existential-anxiety.html
For probably only the third or so time in my life, words fail me, as I try to describe what I feel on reading your post.
A deep perception of your place in human society and the universe, a certain lack of malice towards other beings (Human or otherwise), and a very coherent way of expressing it, without getting all mushy. Sublime.
[These Blogger people believe too much in marketing, and won't allow me to comment with my own nick & url till I make an account with them. But it's too hard for me to remain entirely anonymous, thus: ]
-Solo, himalayanwind.blogdrive.com
Seems very few can renounce marketing.
And yes, Happy New Year and all that jazz.
Simple, sublime, beautiful, profound, unexpectedly moving. And this isn't just for the sake of leaving a comment; I really mean it. Rock on.
Partly because you are the only one who writes longer posts than I do, but mostly because of merit, I've linked you. Drop in when you want.
[P.S. I made a Blogger account to get rid of the pesky prompt to register whenever I want to comment.]
Hi, replying to your questions: My name is Vishal, I studied in DU in a course called BIT (Batch of 2004), I certainly don't know you personally (Coz I don't think I know any Siddhartha (Apart from the one in the eponymous Hesse novel)). I don't think there's any way you would know me. I came to your blog from some link (I think it was at Keerthi's), and liked what I saw. It may be that we think in a somewhat similar manner.
The other two occasions when I was speechless are trek moments, and I can't do justice to them in brief comments. Will only say that I encountered Natural beauty of such magnificence that I was literally speechless. Yes, I too thought this happens only in novels, but this was real. I actually opened my mouth to speak, but couldn't, the neurons were so overwhelmed. Will post about them on the blog, but not soon. Will do when have time to recall at length, which will be in April, after IIM interviews.
Yours is the only blog I've found till now where you talk about very personal experiences, and yet remain detached, making good use of your italicized schizophrenia. This is unique and laudable.
Post a Comment
<< Home