I came across a fascinating tale from Hindu mythology which I must share.
Ganesha, the divine scribe, had a warlord brother, Kartikeya. Being very proud of his physical prowess, he challenged Ganesha to a 3-lap race around the world. Kartikeya leapt onto his peacock and hurtled across the continents, mountains, and oceans at a furious pace, summoning all his celestial power. He flew around once, twice, while Ganesha lounged about, munching on his favorite sweetmeats.
Just before Kartikeya returned from his final lap, Ganesha stood up, folded his hands in reverence, and circled his parents, three times. And when his brother returned, Ganesha greeted him with “I won.”
In response to Kartikeya’s ire and disbelief, Ganesha calmly countered by saying “You went around THE world. I went around MY world. What matters more?”
THE world is objective, logical, driven by fact.
MY world is subjective, emotional, driven by perception.
Business is the interaction between the behavior of the market and the organization. If the organization’s behavior makes the market happy then the market will reward it. But this requires the organization to understand the consumer’s belief system, and consistently empathize with it.
Post wholly inspired by the incredible Devdutt. Watch him mesmerize TED here.
I was lucky enough to catch Paranormal Activity last night. The movie is hands-down the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- go watch it, it’s genius. Shot in under a week and with amateur actors, the film explores the most primal cause of fear- a lack of understanding of what’s going on.
The preview is composed almost entirely of reaction shots of people watching the movie. Spookily brilliant, it creates an empathy with the freaked out folks and compels you to join them in the experience.
You come home and as soon as you’re over the initial terror (which is a while), you can’t wait to get out there and discuss and share feelings.
Marketing and the macabre, made my day 🙂
Apparently you weren’t downtown
You teased- gushing hot water at prodigious pressure, and then slowing to a drip when I was all soaped up- maybe you wanted me to reflect upon how lucky I was to have you
You were governed by a loco landlord- a 71 year old Spaniard who climbed ladders and did mid-air flamenco kicks to change position
The rent for your pleasures was kept, days late, in a leaky fridge
Your walls were paper-thin. My neighbours could hear the lyrics of songs I played, amongst other things…
Fire escapes were not your style- climb and leap across, kept me on my toes
My illegal roof party was probably one of the best days of my life
Looking back, roof cricket and footy were probably not wise
Guided by you I became a chef- a culinary artist, a cooker, cutter of veggies, adder of spices and scents, but alas not a washer of dishes
I also became a gymnast- leaping across the stairs and guiding the new couch through your voluptuousness, in a blizzard, is still one of the greatest things I’ve ever done
You crafted the most delightful memories for me and the ones I love
I’ll miss you. مع السلامة
According to Roald Dahl, children should learn history through chocolate.
” I don’t know why children at school, instead of learning 1066 william the 1st and all the rest of it, why don’t they learn 1932 Mars bar, 1934 Malteser, 1935 Aero…these are worth knowing, these dates…they’re vital, vital to every child…who cares about William the 1st?”
Don’t think I’ve ever agreed more with anyone, on anything.
That evening, I turn on the water in my shower, but the pressure is low because my sister is taking a shower in her bathroom and my mother is taking a shower in hers. I turn off the water and wait. This is what life would have been like if I had stayed, I think: less convenient, perhaps, but more connected to the people I love.
When mentioning to my buddies that my last name resembles an Italian name, I used to get scoffed at. While reading Shantaram today, I came upon a curious cultural comparison that left me feeling somewhat vindicated.
“There is so much Italian in Indians, and so much Indian in Italians. They are both people of the Madonna – they demand a Goddess, even if the religion does not provide one. Every man in both countries is a singer when he is happy; and every woman is a dancer when she walks to the shop corner .For them food is music inside the body and music is food inside the heart. The language of India and the language Italy , they make every man a poet and make something beautiful from every banalite. These are nations where love –amore, pyaar- makes a cavalier of a Borsalino on a street corner, and makes a princess of a peasant girl , if only for the second that her eyes meet yours .”
I know, it’s not really related to my claim. No matter.
Posted in Quotes, The Book Show, Visual Art, Where in the world is Hit?
Tagged cross-culture, Gregory David Roberts, india, Indians, Italians, Italy, pop art, Shantaram, SophiaYB, Sue
Frost. It meanders across the shoulders and onto the couch. The green then the white, and the green again. It’s nice…but you are playing and you want to be picked. Why is he hunting? There’s no need, laying back works. Fuck it, it’s futile, he keeps hunting…his prey’s on the move….leaping, sweeping across…on the other side now…but it’s locked! Why would it be locked, there are no secrets between us, just let me in…Sweat.
Bullets and bullets…shirt’s drenched, stuck. Depleting saltpetre, but my Belmont’s aren’t in reach. That half’s closed…Why look to the left when the game’s on the right…Focus. He’s counting, mapping his quest. I lose interest in him, my labyrinth beckons. I enter. It’s easy. Facile. I invite him to play, but he’s irate now. He must hunt. Brother, stop! Laying back works take it from me. The other half signals its presence. Amused, but dangerously, teetering on panic. I want to respond, to reassure, even grin, but no go, it’s locked. Focus! Sweat. Bullets and bullets, but only on the right. Green and white and white and green and you can merge and why not the hunt’s on but you want no part of it you just want to merge you just want to be and green and white and white and green and on and on and smile…
Cillin, you can turn now… Cigarette’s cashed though. Stand up, vitals normal, sigh, sit, look, channel-flip. Tummy announces it’s existence.
I’m back. ¿Por qué?
Just watched a captivating Salman Rushdie interview in which he repeats a telling quote on the difference between American & British comedy.
British comedy is based on the question “Wouldn’t it be funny IF?” whereas American comedy is based on the question “Isn’t it funny THAT?“
American humor is up-front, expressly stated, with laughs readily available and reflection rarely required. Conversely, British humor requires a curious sort of patience. It unravels itself slowly, titillating the imagination. It requires relationship-building- a character or mannerism may not seem funny until its been expressed over time and in many situations. For these reasons, it’s more intimate, and more likely to strike a lasting chord. You might guffaw hard at Zohan’s antics now, but in 20 years, you’re more likely to remember Basil Fawlty and chuckle.
Sybil Fawlty: You’re looking very happy Basil.
Basil Fawlty: Happy? Ah yes, I remember that.
It’s sort of like a supermodel’s bare bottom versus the same celestial clad in a slit mini-skirt. While it’s amazing to have the instant gratification of the former, one somehow yearns for the artful allure of the latter.
Posted in Miscellaneous
Tagged America, American comedy, American humor, Basil Fawlty, beauty, Britain, British comedy, British humor, comedy, cross-culture, culture, dry wit, European humor, Fawlty Towers, humor, humour, imagination, John Cleese, Salman Rushdie, understated humor, wit, women, Zohan