Passion…unbridled

It is believed that we need solutions innovative

For real world problems, we need to get creative

Challenging the status quo is required

To get to the utopian state desired..

*

Words like creativity and innovation have an undeniable appeal

But in chasing out of the box solutions, I feel

We forget that commonsense solutions can be found

To many problems, if we simply look around

*

In a world with resources that are finite

We must keep wastage of resources in sight

Too often, enough attention to simple solutions we do not give

We are lured by complex solutions that are resource-intensive

*

Undoubtedly there is a need for ideas new

But there is a place for simple, timeless and commonsense solutions too

I missed the boat on learning a skill essential

I never learnt how to type, thinking it would be inconsequential

As someone who finds poor spelling hard to forgive

With significant embarrassment I’ve had to live

Because of mis-typed words, which make me cringe with shame

And for which my lack of education is to blame

With near universal spellcheck, I breathe a sigh of relief

But if there is no auto-correct feature, mis-typing still gives me grief

*

Now I almost exclusively use speech to text applications

But most software programs are not great at comprehension

Of a pseudo-American accent such as mine

Often meaningless jargon in my notes I find

That needs to be corrected by typing out the right stuff

To completely eliminate typing from my life is tough..

*

These days we have AI-powered tools available

Of summarizing a doctor-patient conversation into a note, they are capable

I have not attempted to use them because of my skepticism

I do not want what I say to be filtered through an AI-enabled prism

But AI has the potential to solve my typing tribulations

One of these days I shall try out the new applications..

*

At the end of this long-winded verse, my shortcoming I acknowledge again

I must check my notes for accuracy and from relying solely on computers refrain

Somehow for my art projects I select

Difficult inspiration pieces, I don’t expect

Myself to be able to do justice to the original piece of art

My inexperienced strokes I invariably impart

To the piece I create, and I am left

With artwork that is clearly amateurish and imperfect

Each time that happens, I am reminded that I am not

A trained artist, I need to improve a lot

At the same time, with each project confidence I gain

And I try something beyond my skill-set again

*

I wish I could approach my work in a similar fashion

Take on projects beyond my comfort zone, driven solely by passion

But without consequences in art I can make mistakes

Medicine has a much narrower margin, and the stakes

Are so high that to play it safe I have learnt

In fact I am excessively fearful of being burnt

The result is that in my art, improvement I see

But in my profession, stagnation is threatening me

*

Somewhere in between the two extremes I need to be

I hope my artistic endeavors serve as inspiration at work for me

I’m quite fascinated and frankly, afraid to learn

The amount of electricity that artificial intelligence burns..

*

Training large language models, and running queries on AI platforms

Are energy-intensive to a mind-boggling level, AI performs

Like a gas-guzzling vehicle that is fuel-inefficient

Does the rapid use of AI portend an energy crisis imminent?

*

I learnt that a simple query on ChatGPT

Equals running an LED lightbulb for two minutes, evidently

The carbon footprint of ChatGPT is increased by nighttime use

Therefore daytime interaction with AI I want to choose

*

As AI prepares to take centerstage in coming years

Its disproportionate effect on climate change I fear

I hope there are ongoing efforts to decrease

The climate liability of AI as its influence continues to increase

I’ve always walked around narrating my life in my mind

I thought it was something peculiar to me, I never thought I would find

Someone else who did the same, until in a book I read

About a female character narrating her life in her head

*

Sometimes in first person, sometimes in third, the narrative

Runs in my mind as I go about my life, and I give

A more checkered life to the “character” that is me

Turning each minor challenge into an adversity

I pretend to be a storyteller accomplished

I go further and imagine my writing published

*

Maybe narrating their lives to themselves is something a lot of people do

And just like me, they keep it to themselves too

Narrating my life makes me feel like I’m on a hero’s journey

Perhaps others feel the same way as me..

I have made many investments in my life, but now I need to invest

In my unique voice, at a higher priority than the rest..

**

I feel as if I’ve been fighting a battle eternal

Between conventional wisdom and my ideas internal

I have felt like a square peg in a round hole

Doing things that continue to deplete my soul

**

I’ve walked the path laid out for me

While longing to deviate almost constantly

I’ve spoken in a voice that parrots what I’ve been taught

My own authentic voice I have suppressed a lot

**

I’ve been doing what has never sat well with me

I’ve been trying to blend in, but invariably

My discomfort has caused me to stand out

Now I wonder if conformity I can do without..

*

I ask myself if anyone has benefited

From my forced conformity that is self-inflicted

It appears the answer is a resounding no

For all my compliance I have nothing to show

**

So let me tap into my authenticity

And express myself freely for the world to see I’ve invested in a borrowed voice before

Now my own voice I choose to explore

I should be the first one to tell you that posture is important when you read

But what can I say, I read books sprawled on my bed, indeed..

*

I start by sitting on a table and chair, with my back straight

With ambient light that my aging eyes find adequate

But it seems like a replica of my work desk, therefore

Soon I switch to the bed, in order to relax some more

I sit up straight in bed, with the book perched on my knees

Once I am engrossed in the book, my posture starts to ease

Invariably I end up on my stomach, with my head propped on my elbows

Though harmful for my neck, this is the posture my body knows

Is associated with reading, this is how I’ve always read

Books since childhood, right before going to bed

*

Reading is the best way to unwind for me

Reading prone in bed has the comfort of familiarity

The habit is exceedingly difficult to break

But I have to make an attempt for my body’s sake

As a gauche introvert, my heart sinks each time I come across

Well-intentioned advice that advocates for networking, I just want to toss

All my hopes of achieving success some day

In a garbage can, simply throw away

Any ambition that I harbor deep inside

I have not succeeded, though I have tried

To network with people, try to sell

All the qualities I have, things I do well

But it is already difficult for me to effectively communicate

Any attempt at self-promotion leaves in a more awkward state

*

I stay in a corner hoping someone important would see

The quality of my work and consider offering me

A chance to prove myself, a challenge new

But even if I get there, further what would I do

Because at some point networking would become inevitable

Without it I would bring nothing to the table..

*

I have come to terms with my introversion

I must learn to thrive with my mild aversion

To networking in the way that experts recommend

Maybe I shall still be successful in the end..

For some reason I had this notion in mind

That a real artist could only be defined

As someone who used paintbrushes to create

Masterpieces on canvas, mixing on a palette

Watercolors, oil paints or acrylics in various hues

A variety of shades the artist would choose

To create in each piece of art lifelike detail

Real artists, I believed, only created paintings large-scaled

*

I had no luck with brushes, their pliable tips did not respond to my will

But the longing to create art stayed with me still

Now pens and pencils seemed much easier to use

Therefore those were the art materials I did choose

Applying them to card-stock, I created

Artwork that with my aesthetic sense resonated

*

I expanded my artistic ambitions to canvases slightly larger in size

I still do not paint with brushes, I’ve realized

The firm tips of pens and markers bend to my will

But the paint brushes never have and never will

Dispense paint on a surface in a way that I desire

Therefore I have abandoned paintbrushes and acquired

Pens of every shade, type and thickness

Those way through art myself I’ve finally learnt to express

*

I am glad to my fallacious notion I did not stick

And that over paints, colored pens I did pick

At least I am creating art of some kind

Even if is not the image I had in mind

You’ve heard the quintessential immigrant tale

The romanticized version of overcoming odds that never fails

To impress people, the individual saga of struggles that stands out

In an essay or personal statement, that is admirable without doubt

Each immigrant is expected to have a similar story to tell

Of escape from poverty, persecution and living in hell

To the beacon of hope where they’ve come to realize

The American Dream, the unmatched prize

*

Your immigrant story has no harrowing details

You don’t have a rags to riches tale

You did not escape persecution of any kind

It’s not that employment you were unable to find

In your home country- none of those scenarios applied to you

You came out of sheer curiosity- it does not sound convincing, but it is actually true

*

You did stay and have made a home here

You have changed since you arrived, that much is clear

You gained some, but there was much you lost

Immigration was an opportunity you availed of, at a cost

Whether your life is better here is difficult to say

Your life is not a fable on immigrant success anyway

As an old-fashioned reader of printed books, I find

Listening to audiobooks tantamount to cheating, I cannot wrap my mind

Around listening to a book instead of reading one

I have been known to give up in frustration

To me, reading a book means turning pages at my pace

There in no page-turning in an audiobook, so I cannot embrace

Listening to audiobooks as an alternative viable

I want real books, preferably printed-they are more reliable

*

To go back and re-read something that I rushed through

In an audiobook is much harder to do

To rewind and listen again is simply not the same

As reading something on previous pages again..

There is no way something I like can be underlined

In an audiobook, it just has to be stored in my mind

*

In comparing the merits of both ways of “reading” a book I found

While listening to a book, the inflections in the sound

Can draw a listener into the story more effectively

Shakespeare’s sonnets are also easier to understand, evidently

When you hear them out loud, instead of reading them on a page

So I guess audiobooks do have that advantage..

*

In reading versus reading different senses in are engaged

For a book, I shall stick to reading words on a page

There are a hundred things on your mind

Just thinking about all of them overwhelming you find

With everything competing simultaneously for your attention

You end up focusing on less important things

, despite your best intentions

*

If you are overwhelmed by all the thoughts in your head

Do not let them stay there, write them down instead

From chaos, you are on your way to the first step of organization

From here you can move towards prioritization

Suddenly you realize that clarity of thought you have acquired

The sense of overwhelm has disappeared, you feel inspired

To take action on the ideas that most compelling appear

The ones that speak to you loud and clear

*

Using old-fashioned paper and pens

Write down what you feel, and see the world through a new lens

Write down a list, your ambitions, the story swirling jn your mind

Write for yourself, and a different perspective find