On Imperfection

One of the quotes that I read lately goes something like "If you hate someone, you hate a part of yourself that you can see in them. Nothing will disturb you if you can't connect yourself with them". This post is somewhat about the reverse corollary that I can derive from the thought.

When I think about what I love, and I don't mean the person or the thing or the idea, but what particularly I like about them so much, I can't help but get the imperfections inherent in them as the response to this curious question of mine.

These irregularities, these nuances are what makes our object of love so unique. Makes them what they are. There is a warmth and an assurance in knowing about them. And there is a fondness that I derive from this knowledge. Maybe like what Robbin Williams said in Goodwill hunting, "The little idiosyncrasies that only I know about: that's what made her my wife" and "People call these things imperfections, but they are not. Ah, that's the good stuff".

These imperfections are also what makes humans humans. Will smith said, on the eve of the release of I robot, that you won't make a robot and give him my ears. During my adolescent days when I used to sneak a peek on Fashion TV, my favourite models were the ones who had at least one observable imperfection. Like the teeth of Laetitia Casta.

And maybe that is why I have difficulty digesting the concept of a single, all-encompassing, omnipresent, ideal God. Only because he is, rather the idea is, too perfect to feel a connect with. For me God is a concept to admire and to be awed with and be inspired by, but it doesn't propel me to become anything like him or her, because deep inside I know that I am a human and a very imperfect one at that. I won't be a human if I am perfect. I will be an idea that doesn't exist in reality.

My Mumbai, My Indians

I am ashamed to write this but the civic sense of the average Urban Indian can be summed up as "Donate all possible bodily fluids to the roads"