The Art of Giving

A gift is a difficult thing to comprehend. One has to select something for the other, relying on his taste. The gift always lies on the vulnerable edge of liking or disliking. Further, when gift has a monetary value, it falls under the perview of functionality and usability. Then there is a usable and a useless object. There are many times when gifts circulate. They keep on getting passed from one hand to the other as gifts. I was wondering if gifts ever become usable and assume a part of our everyday lives. It is then when a gift is assumed to be worth. But in that case, the gift becomes ephemeral. Then it continues to live on in memories once the physicality of it is gone, or has become redundant.

Today, children have become so sensitive about gifts. Right from their childhood, they are forced into the custom of distributing and accepting gifts. The gift has become an object to be learnt as a part of the curriculum. An then is to be learnt the art of giving. I wonder if the concept of gift was so strong in early ages. In the present time, children are so possessive and sensitive about receiving gifts. I use ‘receive‘ because now-a-days, you receive a gift even when you give a gift – the ‘return’ gift.

Children today even question the host if they do not receive a return gift. It was never so atleast in our childhood. Today it has also become a matter of lifestyle and class. My nephews studying in reasonably good schools receive ‘Birthday invitation cards’. I always thought that personal invitation cards are only for marriages. Suddenly casual things have become so formal – customary.

When I was small, I used to prepare greeting cards. My mother never used to give me enough money to buy a printed archies card. So the only option was to make one. This was beneficial on two accounts – it fostered my creativity and saved money. Many a times, I still used to stand at card galleries, stealing concepts to make cards. I used to maintain a book in which I used to write what could comprise the matter inside a card. These included rhymes, poems, anecdotes, sayings, and all sorts of things to write.

But that was not all. To make a card, one would require a lot many things. Sketch pens, crayons, coloured paper, stickers and later on sparkles, fancy scissors which could cut zig zag – I still have all of them. I would be always on the look out for good cartoons, flowers and funny figures in magazines, news papers, note book covers…then slowly, patiently cutting them by their outlines. I think that involved so much of the self. It too involved time – in finally arranging stuff to prepare the greeting card. To think what to write. Even if on a rare occasion, a card was purchased, time would be dedicated in carefully and thoughtfully decorating it…and then the envelope, because envelope is the first thing one sees.

Cards are gone. People do not appreciate cards. I have cards for about 10 of my birthdays still preserved. When i see those, all memories come back to me. It is almost nostalgic. The best part was that One could post cards via the mail too. One would wait on the other hand, to receive a card on the birthday, and it would involve the memories of the person too.

As we grow up and start earning, we realize that we can spend now. But instead of buying a card, we look for ‘value of money’ and rather prefer a usable object than a card. This object is so mean – it vests the power of ‘liking’ in itself. It brings jealousy, dissatisfaction and doesnot even have an emotional value. It is not accepted as a gift, but an object. And the moment it reveals itself in the hand, it starts the judgmental cycle. And the person immediately starts to think, ‘will I use it?’

Greeting cards were noble. They atleast took some time and allowed the person to appreciate the effort – either in making or decorating. One always knew it was a memory, not usable, and hence did not go in the other realm of judgment.
A gift is no more a gift. Unfortunately.

Insistence on being certain?

I have let it sink in…may be…

My biggest complaint with Correa was that he claimed to give me the award only because of benefit of doubt. He should not have given the award to me if that was the case. That’s why the status onthe facebook. On the other hand, i wonder if a person like him too feels that ‚teaching‘, ‚writing‘ and criticism are for wanderers. They are ‚some‘ jobs, and not as specific as ‚architecture‘. What i also wondered was that if he too was as narrow minded to think of an architect as a person who would, or rather should ‚build‘. The other argument which would favour him was that if i had gone to him, it better be for an architectural criticism and not for a ,flowery‘ word talk. Agreed. But one can always enjoy the spirit of the subject.

The meet reminded me of the book Haroun and the Sea of Stories, where the protagonist’s father is a story teller. I wonder if story tellers are useless people? Is writing or teaching an abstruse profession? Why do educated people look down upon such fields? It also reminds me, in a bitter way, what George Bernard Shaw said, „Those who can do nothing, teach, those who can not teach, write“. While the shade in which he must have written may be sarcastically poking or legitimizing his own profession, it definitely pricks when others use it in a poky fashion.

What does one do, if one finds his niche at a very late stage in life? In the process of finding ones calling, one may end up involving himself or herself in a completely different course of study. But having completed it, does one become bound to follow it or practice it the rest of his or her life? Does an educated society fail to understand the confusion within a young mind? Can an educated person like Correa not address the confusion of a young mind instead of riduculing it?

Confusion has allowed me only to ask more questions. These questions generate a thirst for answers. Hence i write. I write in order to detail my questions to an extent that they resolve themselves as rhetorics. This endsup in my writings. I like writing. I like teaching because i am able to discuss my confusion with others. Many times, these discussions take artistic forms : architectural manifestations or artistic drawings. Such confusion existed in my thesis too. But is it really bad? Something to feel so worse for? Again i am raising questions, and i guess, most of my sentences end in question marks! Thats not good though, is it?

This constant conflict to take a stand and move on is irritating. Life is not worth it. One misses so many moments in this silly confusion. But may be, it has allowed me to be more sympathetic towards others who are not able to decide and humble towards the smallest of jobs. After all, who knows, i may end my life just as a story teller or a typist!