Kintsukuroi - A Flawless Philosophy About Imperfections

In one of the episodes of the TV series 'The Mentalist', Teresa Lisbon gifts Patrick Jane his favorite tea cup on his birthday. Not a new one but Jane's own tea cup that smashed to pieces (in an earlier episode) as the FBI was shutting down CBI's operations. Apparently, Lisbon painstakingly re-pieced every shard together to restore the cup (one of Jane's very few possessions) to its former glory. Naturally, Jane is overwhelmed. So was I. In my opinion,  the tea cup and Jane's habit of brewing tea (plus lounging on the couch) were as much a part of the storyline as the characters themselves. For me, normalcy was restored. Thanks to the tea cup.

The episode also reminded me of that beautiful Japanese term kintsukuroi. A term with which I got familiar by chance, through a very charming wordsmith I once knew. Kintsukuroi, in its simplest definition means 'to repair with gold' or 'golden repair'. But it also alludes to a broken item that upon being repaired with gold, becomes more beautiful than before. If one were to dig a little deeper in wikipedia for a more technical meaning, they would find that kintsukuroi is "the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum and is based on the philosophy that breakage and repair is treated as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." The flaws make it more beautiful than before. Nice. A little more digging and one would find a fable associated with the term here.  I found the story Thanks to a feisty Blue Gecko's beautiful blog. 

So, coming back to 'The Mentalist', in a way Jane's repaired tea cup was a great example of kintsukuroi. It had become more beautiful (and more precious) after being repaired by someone he loved.

However, when it comes to life and all things real world, we do not find things that once broken, and mended, to be more beautiful than before. We treat them as glaring examples of gross imperfections that can never be repaired or restored to former glory. We discard such objects. And sometimes, by the same token, people as well. We are especially unforgiving when it comes to people.

Many a time, we see people point out other people's mistakes and blunders and criticize them like its nobody's business. And often times we forget that we might have committed such bloopers ourselves. We only see the scars and flaws of others as irreparable imperfections and nothing else. Perhaps, we were wired that way. To weed out imperfections in others as a part of survival of the fittest or whatever evolution meant it to be. But isn't such thought process of ours itself fundamentally flawed or broken? Don't we assume that we are far too perfect to be broken no matter how humble we are? After all, like they say, nobody's perfect.

In this regard, one must appreciate the Japanese for their appreciation of perfection (and imperfections) and the pains they take to make even the most imperfect objects, well, perfect. And they do so by highlighting such objects' imperfections! With gold!!

Perhaps it's time we changed as well. And mend ourselves. To become better than our former selves while still displaying our vulnerabilities and scars. Alas! For now there exists no kintsukuroi for us. Perfect!

Getting Lost in the Heartbreak City

Of all the places I have been to in my lifetime, the one place that never fails to cheer me up and disappoint me in equal measures is Bangalore or Bengaluru as it is now called. No, the city has got nothing to do with it. It's just me. Being a small town guy, the city lights of Bangalore always dazzle me. So much so, that I get blinded by them. Just like Dick Whittington and his cat getting mesmerized by London. Great weather, great (looking) people, good parks, sprawling greenery, good food, great malls, nice places to visit around, in short, all things great. Flipside, too expensive and too crowded. The Garden City, once a haven for retired and gentile folks, today looks as if it is the center for a never ending Youth Fest for entire youth of India to gather around. In short, a very hot and happening place. Which is good. And bad. 

Great Weather... or so they say...

Having travelled to Bangalore several times over the past few years for special and not-so-special occasions, I always resisted the temptation to publish my Bangalore chronicles. I wanted to forget every unforgettable moment I experienced so that I could create better ones the next time I was there. Thus far I must say I had been very successful in creating great memories. However, this time was different.

To start with, it was a trip that was long overdue and well past its proverbial expiry date. Over the past few months, several situations beyond my control had cropped up whenever I planned the trip and so I would have to put it off to a later date. Like they say, when it rains, it pours and you can't do anything about it. Hence the outcome of this much delayed trip  was unknown and chances of any form of success were close to impossible. But then I had just myself to blame and nothing to lose. Nevertheless, it was a chance (in a billion) I was willing to take.  So, finally when I saw a streak of sunshine slip through the dark clouds, I picked my already packed bags and trudged Bangalore-wards. Just like Dick Whittington and his cat making their way to London.

But then folklores are just that. Folklores. So unlike the future Lord Mayor of London, I didn't get lucky and got confined to my loneliness. I ended up being an ordinary lost tourist with an almost useless and outdated map that seemed to scream 'GET LOST!' in more ways than one. And so get lost I did.

I got lost in those myriad mazes called the Bangalore one-way streets which sometimes even the local Bangaloreans can't comprehend. Crossing the streets was a military operation in itself. Bangaloreans, usually polite and docile people, become pedestrian hunters when they are riding or driving. And I was fair game during the open season. Survived but barely, I must say. Eventually I learned a few tricks of the trade of urban survival and warfare.

The other time I got lost, I happened to wander into this coffee shop called 'The Square' (run by Cafe Coffee Day) where the service was ho-hum but the security was so ridiculous that ordinary pedestrians could not walk past the glass facade because the footpath was 'private'! It took some persuasion on my part to let the security understand that I was a wannabe patron and not a pedestrian trying to gain entry into the coffee shop. Here, I would like to mention that I have had easier passage through customs of some foreign countries than getting into 'The Square'. Anyways, upon entering, I spent a considerable amount of time - over a cup of coffee - thinking about what security measures I should undergo to exit the shop. Thankfully, there were none excepting for the fact that I had to pay a king's ransom for the frappe. Did I mention that Bangalore is expensive?

The Square

Returning from the 'Square' I got lost again and stumbled across a bookshop that only sold magazines. I felt sorry for the guy running a bookshop in this age of digital tablets (speaking of which, our civilization started with stone tablets, graduated to papyrus and paper and now we are back to the tablets, but I digress). Besides me, there was nobody else excepting for the glum looking bookstore guy. I decided that I'll buy a magazine just to cheer him up and see a gleam of happiness in his eyes. I felt that if the glum-me could make the glum-bookstore-owner happy then some of my glumness would go away. Instead, at the billing counter all I got was a once over (that would make TSA proud!!) from the bookstore owner to ascertain that I hadn't shoplifted any expensive imported dirty magazine from the shelf and slipped it inside my shirt or trousers while pretending to pay for a dirt cheap weekly I had bought. So much for feeling sorry about bookstore owners!

The next time I got lost, my friend rescued me with a metro ride and made me step into a mall of epic proportions! Yea, I still have friends I can count on. And I am glad that I do. But I digress again. What a mall it was! I just couldn't see one end of it standing at the other end. Amazing.

Sri Someshwara Temple

Then I got lost (yet again) and came across this 1000+ year old temple of Sri Someshwara (arguably the oldest temple in Bangalore) nestled between a strikingly new high-rise decked with a helipad on one end of the street and the elevated metro line on the other. Apparently, these days, thanks to its pedestrian hunting traffic even the Gods prefer the aerial routes to the overcrowded streets of Namma Bengaluru.

And thus my 'Lost' saga continued. I lost a lot and got lost a lot but in the process I also rediscovered the forgotten art of being guided by the stars and the sun. The stars being my friends and the sun being, well, the sun. Needless to say, I also ended up discovering something new at every wrong turn I took.

And as I turned away from the Garden City, I just wished the bells would toll for my return just like they did for Dick Whittington and his cat. They never did. Or perhaps I never heard them. I was lost and dejected as I left the Heartbreak City....