Oh, my blog is a year old now. I had planned quite an event, this time of the year some time ago.
Plans are made to fall flat on their face and make you wonder how well synchronised everything in the world is.
To begin with, I looked forward to these winters most immensely and they somewhat slapped me in the face. It so happens that if one spends many many months learning to keep oneself cool in atrociously hot and sultry tropical weather, one forgets how to keep oneself warm in severly harsh Delhi winters. Thus, I was a bit under the weather not once but twice. Food poisoning or something to that degree threatens to play truant on NY's Eve Tomorrow. I suppose I shall welcome the new year with yet another Tar~t forecast that I shall misplace soon afterwards.
Academic Performance and Results were far below expectations. Yes, it's been a terrible year.
What's new in this world? Another assassination. Was inevitable.
Finally an interesting application on Facebook, after all the nonsense it has churned out. Scrabulous! Most interesting. I'm getting better!
Television continues to remain dull and uneventful. It's as if I've aged 10 years in one and a half.
I watched "The Queen" about 4 times. Loved it immensely. The British accent continues to remain enchanting! I shall endeavor to acquire one soon.
I suppose that should do for now.
Au revoir!
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Frozen Yoghurt
No, I don't plan to ramble on and on about frozen Yogurt as a friend would do (No, I'm not leaving you a link.. Ha!)
I AM the frozen yogurt. Back in Delhi after AGES (1 month to be precise :P) and I'm down with a cough, cold, occasional fever, persistent headache and dizziness... basically, the works. The irony in the matter, for there always is some irony in every aspect of my life, is that I came sprinting towards this cold weather with arms open wide and with every intention of embracing it. It embraced me in a massive hug and then took me down.
For 4 days now, I've been denied a voice. No, all that I say is not neglected or overlooked, it simply isn't heard for I'm not audible. My voice is but a whisper, if not non-existent.
It has its advantages, for I can evade answering phonecalls and abuse loudly (and not be heard) but it does get annoying if I'm engaged in conversation with someone. For whilst I'm talking, my voice randomly disappears and my conversee looks into my face blankly before embarrassedly saying "What?!"
It doesn't help to know that the temperature inside my lovely home, paranormally, is at least a degree below that outside. Honest! It isn't a fragment of my imagination!
Nevermind. I shall be Homer Simpson about it, recover and hold no grudge against it.
The city looks as gorgeous as never before. It's cold and misty and everybody has clothes on! That last part itself makes the city so much more civilized than it truly is!
In 2, if not 3 days, I shall do the unthinkable. I shall pack my bags and head further north, to a cold cold region that is buried many feet below layers of snow (slight exaggeration, pardon!) and masquerade as a married person (no exaggeration, honest) for purposes that I consider unwise to share over here. For which I have been forbidden to shave. Due to which I look like a beast (though still mildly handsome). So there!
Anyway, not much to share. Just thought I'd say Hello and that I'd be married in a few days and inevitably unmarried a few days later.
Goodbye!
I AM the frozen yogurt. Back in Delhi after AGES (1 month to be precise :P) and I'm down with a cough, cold, occasional fever, persistent headache and dizziness... basically, the works. The irony in the matter, for there always is some irony in every aspect of my life, is that I came sprinting towards this cold weather with arms open wide and with every intention of embracing it. It embraced me in a massive hug and then took me down.
For 4 days now, I've been denied a voice. No, all that I say is not neglected or overlooked, it simply isn't heard for I'm not audible. My voice is but a whisper, if not non-existent.
It has its advantages, for I can evade answering phonecalls and abuse loudly (and not be heard) but it does get annoying if I'm engaged in conversation with someone. For whilst I'm talking, my voice randomly disappears and my conversee looks into my face blankly before embarrassedly saying "What?!"
It doesn't help to know that the temperature inside my lovely home, paranormally, is at least a degree below that outside. Honest! It isn't a fragment of my imagination!
Nevermind. I shall be Homer Simpson about it, recover and hold no grudge against it.
The city looks as gorgeous as never before. It's cold and misty and everybody has clothes on! That last part itself makes the city so much more civilized than it truly is!
In 2, if not 3 days, I shall do the unthinkable. I shall pack my bags and head further north, to a cold cold region that is buried many feet below layers of snow (slight exaggeration, pardon!) and masquerade as a married person (no exaggeration, honest) for purposes that I consider unwise to share over here. For which I have been forbidden to shave. Due to which I look like a beast (though still mildly handsome). So there!
Anyway, not much to share. Just thought I'd say Hello and that I'd be married in a few days and inevitably unmarried a few days later.
Goodbye!
Monday, 17 December 2007
Full Circle
Snuggled up in my bed.
The blanket offers warmth, that came from me. The warmth is lost when I lift it even a little..
With numerous small efforts, we build around ourselves a wall to protect us from the cold. One small error and the wall collapses about us, at times before our eyes, otherwise, while we were sleeping.
Another year approaches an end. Once again, it is time to brood. Twelve months ago, I began this journey. It was infrequently updated. The future looked bright. There was lots to gain, little to lose. I gained lots. I lost a little. Then I lost almost all. Another beginning, but the future isn't as bright anymore.
Lots to share, but all in time
Unless all is lost in rhyme
The blanket offers warmth, that came from me. The warmth is lost when I lift it even a little..
With numerous small efforts, we build around ourselves a wall to protect us from the cold. One small error and the wall collapses about us, at times before our eyes, otherwise, while we were sleeping.
Another year approaches an end. Once again, it is time to brood. Twelve months ago, I began this journey. It was infrequently updated. The future looked bright. There was lots to gain, little to lose. I gained lots. I lost a little. Then I lost almost all. Another beginning, but the future isn't as bright anymore.
Lots to share, but all in time
Unless all is lost in rhyme
Monday, 3 December 2007
TOW The Black Cat....
Hello there!
Awkward time for me to write in, it is. No, it wouldn't seem any out of the ordinary to you, would it? Well, it is to me, for you see, in half an hour over eight, I shall have to write an exam, and that too one of the worst I'd ever have to. My preparation is vastly incomplete and in place of reading more about Memory Organisation in ancient computers, I choose to share with you my memories.
What I arise from the dead to tell you about is a tale so frightening and eerie that your bones are likely shiver-me-timbers. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that is sure to make your eyes grow so wide with fear, that your contact lenses would fall out by themselves. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that, if nothing else, is likely to compel you to say, "Hehe!"
You see, many of us so-called modern fools pride ourselves in that we do not believe in superstitions. You fear not walking from underneath a ladder on the wall, lest it should fall upon you. What more, you stand there for a moment and do a little jig. To prove that a cat doesn't have nine lives, you drown your own in a your bathtub and say "See? I told you so!"
But you see, there exist some forces in nature that fall beyond our own control and you simply cannot explain. You cannot say why it happens, and you cannot say how. But it does.... and leaves you questioning.... "Is there someone out there?"
Okay, well, no. This isn't a UFO encounter. All the characters involved in this story, human or inhuman, were purely grounded on earth and belonged to it. No one questions their presence here amongst us. Their presence at the scene of the, well, occurrence was purely co-incidental.
Moving beyond the disclaimers, let me tell you why exactly we believe in superstitions. It isn't because our ancestors took the initiative of propagating them through so many generations. No, we were not manipulated into believing them by Influential writers and personalities of our times such as One Ms. Enid Blyton. Our belief takes its roots from hard-core occurrences, as real as the soil beneath our feat (and if you're on concrete, then the soil beneath that.)
It happened so. I was casually cycling back to the comfort of my bed (that is obtained once it has been cleared of books, notes, bags and arbitrary sharp articles that would otherwise re-direct you to the comfort of the hospital bed.) when I was interrupted on the way by one Nab~n N~g. The truth lies in the fact that possessing a bi-cycle on a No-Vehicle campus is super-cool! Everybody wants a taste of it! Being the kind and generous soul you are, you're willing to let them have a go at it (and stifling your laughter when you take it away from them) but Lo and Behold, one would have to be logically incapacitated to give away their vehicle en-route to home and walk all the way back.
Thus I stood, face to face avec une Nab~n N~g who insisted upon leasing my bicycle for the remainder of the journey while I, the possessor and prosecutor, lugged my heavy bag all the way on foot. We argued, I refused, we argued some more. Spectators stood all around, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bi-cycle off our hands for us. Ha!
As we stood there, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bicycle off other people's hands, as I told you, Nab~n N~g happened to chance his eye upon one lonely soul who happen to pass on the sidewalk. She did not stop to look upon us and my bicycle, claiming stake upon it for the next 20 minutes or so. She didn't even bother to stop and opine. Cats usually don't, by norm. Nonetheless, she did divert from her linear trajectory and proceed to cut right through my path.
Anyone with the least bit of awareness would know that a Black Cat crossing your path is said to bring bad luck. Nab~n knew and proceeded to cheer it on.
It crossed my path.
Nab~n withdrew his claim and invited me to continue on my way, through the tainted path.
Was I to stand there and let him have his laugh? Certainly not. For you see, I too was a lost wandering soul who refused to believe in superstitions. How foolish I was!
What is the first thing a person who doesn't believe in ghosts would utter when confronted by one? Well, most obviously, "I don't believe in You!"
Which is exactly what I did. Well ofcourse I don't Not-Believe in the existence of Black Cat themselves but I do Not-Believe in their attributed qualities of causing utter mayhem in the lives of those whose path they cross.
Thus I proceeded to, with full vigour and strength, scream at that conniving cat, "I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU!" Not once but twice, thrice, maybe even four times! I don't recall how many exactly, since I was all steamed up.
Having declared my disbelief, I returned my attention to the company I was in, only to discover that round-about everyone was rolling in laughter. Before I could've prided myself in having caused it, I paused and wondered as to what was so amusing in it all. Knowing that the entire lot wasn't a group of delinquents, I proceeded to inquire on the same.
As it turned out, black cats aren't that lucky at all.
You see, as I stood their proudly screaming at the cat that I didn't believe in it, their happened to cross OUR path (the one connecting the blessed cat and me.... No wait. Strike that out. ... cat and blessed me..) 2 unsuspecting girls; Unsuspecting of the fact that my character had been questioned by the Crossing Of A Cat. Naturally, they took it upon themselves to accept my comment as directed at them, and responded not with a sweet smile and a wave but a frown of an extreme degree and a scowl, falling short (phew!) of a smack.
It isn't just to blame them, of course, for not seeing things from my point of view, in which they weren't present at all. In the stadium had been merely me and the blesse.... No, wait, blessed me and the cat.
Unfortunately, in the point of view of pretty much everyone else, there had existed me, the blessed cat.. oh Argh!.. and the 2 random strangers.
Since it is uncommon for people to scream at stranger cats (and at times, familiar ones) as they pass on the street, naturally my comment would be interpreted as directed at those two lonely girls. Reasonable as I am, even I can relate to the feeling of disgust and humiliation at being told that those around me do not believe in me. As if I don't exist or whatever!
Thus, my faith in superstitions was restored and resurrected and shall last forever more, or until this incident is forgotten from my mind, whichever comes sooner.
Thus remember the next time you stand beneath a ladder propped against a wall, and do a little jig. A bird seated on its rung might defecate on you. The next time a black cat crosses your path, look right, left and centre before screaming at it that you don't believe in it. Rather, play it safer and don't scream at all. Send it a telegram (or a howler!)
Superstitions are true, my friend(s). They're here to stay!
Awkward time for me to write in, it is. No, it wouldn't seem any out of the ordinary to you, would it? Well, it is to me, for you see, in half an hour over eight, I shall have to write an exam, and that too one of the worst I'd ever have to. My preparation is vastly incomplete and in place of reading more about Memory Organisation in ancient computers, I choose to share with you my memories.
What I arise from the dead to tell you about is a tale so frightening and eerie that your bones are likely shiver-me-timbers. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that is sure to make your eyes grow so wide with fear, that your contact lenses would fall out by themselves. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that, if nothing else, is likely to compel you to say, "Hehe!"
You see, many of us so-called modern fools pride ourselves in that we do not believe in superstitions. You fear not walking from underneath a ladder on the wall, lest it should fall upon you. What more, you stand there for a moment and do a little jig. To prove that a cat doesn't have nine lives, you drown your own in a your bathtub and say "See? I told you so!"
But you see, there exist some forces in nature that fall beyond our own control and you simply cannot explain. You cannot say why it happens, and you cannot say how. But it does.... and leaves you questioning.... "Is there someone out there?"
Okay, well, no. This isn't a UFO encounter. All the characters involved in this story, human or inhuman, were purely grounded on earth and belonged to it. No one questions their presence here amongst us. Their presence at the scene of the, well, occurrence was purely co-incidental.
Moving beyond the disclaimers, let me tell you why exactly we believe in superstitions. It isn't because our ancestors took the initiative of propagating them through so many generations. No, we were not manipulated into believing them by Influential writers and personalities of our times such as One Ms. Enid Blyton. Our belief takes its roots from hard-core occurrences, as real as the soil beneath our feat (and if you're on concrete, then the soil beneath that.)
It happened so. I was casually cycling back to the comfort of my bed (that is obtained once it has been cleared of books, notes, bags and arbitrary sharp articles that would otherwise re-direct you to the comfort of the hospital bed.) when I was interrupted on the way by one Nab~n N~g. The truth lies in the fact that possessing a bi-cycle on a No-Vehicle campus is super-cool! Everybody wants a taste of it! Being the kind and generous soul you are, you're willing to let them have a go at it (and stifling your laughter when you take it away from them) but Lo and Behold, one would have to be logically incapacitated to give away their vehicle en-route to home and walk all the way back.
Thus I stood, face to face avec une Nab~n N~g who insisted upon leasing my bicycle for the remainder of the journey while I, the possessor and prosecutor, lugged my heavy bag all the way on foot. We argued, I refused, we argued some more. Spectators stood all around, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bi-cycle off our hands for us. Ha!
As we stood there, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bicycle off other people's hands, as I told you, Nab~n N~g happened to chance his eye upon one lonely soul who happen to pass on the sidewalk. She did not stop to look upon us and my bicycle, claiming stake upon it for the next 20 minutes or so. She didn't even bother to stop and opine. Cats usually don't, by norm. Nonetheless, she did divert from her linear trajectory and proceed to cut right through my path.
Anyone with the least bit of awareness would know that a Black Cat crossing your path is said to bring bad luck. Nab~n knew and proceeded to cheer it on.
It crossed my path.
Nab~n withdrew his claim and invited me to continue on my way, through the tainted path.
Was I to stand there and let him have his laugh? Certainly not. For you see, I too was a lost wandering soul who refused to believe in superstitions. How foolish I was!
What is the first thing a person who doesn't believe in ghosts would utter when confronted by one? Well, most obviously, "I don't believe in You!"
Which is exactly what I did. Well ofcourse I don't Not-Believe in the existence of Black Cat themselves but I do Not-Believe in their attributed qualities of causing utter mayhem in the lives of those whose path they cross.
Thus I proceeded to, with full vigour and strength, scream at that conniving cat, "I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU!" Not once but twice, thrice, maybe even four times! I don't recall how many exactly, since I was all steamed up.
Having declared my disbelief, I returned my attention to the company I was in, only to discover that round-about everyone was rolling in laughter. Before I could've prided myself in having caused it, I paused and wondered as to what was so amusing in it all. Knowing that the entire lot wasn't a group of delinquents, I proceeded to inquire on the same.
As it turned out, black cats aren't that lucky at all.
You see, as I stood their proudly screaming at the cat that I didn't believe in it, their happened to cross OUR path (the one connecting the blessed cat and me.... No wait. Strike that out. ... cat and blessed me..) 2 unsuspecting girls; Unsuspecting of the fact that my character had been questioned by the Crossing Of A Cat. Naturally, they took it upon themselves to accept my comment as directed at them, and responded not with a sweet smile and a wave but a frown of an extreme degree and a scowl, falling short (phew!) of a smack.
It isn't just to blame them, of course, for not seeing things from my point of view, in which they weren't present at all. In the stadium had been merely me and the blesse.... No, wait, blessed me and the cat.
Unfortunately, in the point of view of pretty much everyone else, there had existed me, the blessed cat.. oh Argh!.. and the 2 random strangers.
Since it is uncommon for people to scream at stranger cats (and at times, familiar ones) as they pass on the street, naturally my comment would be interpreted as directed at those two lonely girls. Reasonable as I am, even I can relate to the feeling of disgust and humiliation at being told that those around me do not believe in me. As if I don't exist or whatever!
Thus, my faith in superstitions was restored and resurrected and shall last forever more, or until this incident is forgotten from my mind, whichever comes sooner.
Thus remember the next time you stand beneath a ladder propped against a wall, and do a little jig. A bird seated on its rung might defecate on you. The next time a black cat crosses your path, look right, left and centre before screaming at it that you don't believe in it. Rather, play it safer and don't scream at all. Send it a telegram (or a howler!)
Superstitions are true, my friend(s). They're here to stay!
Friday, 16 November 2007
'I'm at a different place in my life right now.'
Loose words, almost an alibi and monumental to explain if heart-felt. Yet, there come moments in one's journey when one is forced to change track, alter his routine, beliefs, preferences and often, his ideals to accomodate new avenues and experiences, lessons learnt and make fresh beginnings.
There is no harm. Growth and change are natural. Clinging on can often become a handicap. If one day we are prompted and tempted to differ from or even contradict entirely all that we stood by and preached, should we hold on for a matter of pride or dignity?
We should release ourselves to our destiny. We must kneel before forces that are stronger. We must heed the old wise man.
In life, there is a New Beginning.... and then some more.
There is no harm. Growth and change are natural. Clinging on can often become a handicap. If one day we are prompted and tempted to differ from or even contradict entirely all that we stood by and preached, should we hold on for a matter of pride or dignity?
We should release ourselves to our destiny. We must kneel before forces that are stronger. We must heed the old wise man.
In life, there is a New Beginning.... and then some more.
Sunday, 21 October 2007
Know me a little..
List five things that you want to say to people but never will. Don't say who they are.
1. Open your eyes. Look at yourself. Don't live in Denial. Before it's too late....
2. Don't change if you don't feel the need to. Keep pretending if it makes you happy.
We won't wait forever.
3. It's over. We're no more. It's all for the best so accept it and move on.
4. You misled me all the while. You broke me. Now, you're gone. But I'll wait for you. I adore you. Someday, we'll meet. Remember me.
5. I only live because it makes you happy, and that's how long I'll live. If it weren't for you, I would've been gone.... long ago.
Seven things I’d love to do before I die.
1. Sing on stage. Record an album.
2. Find the one. And then....
3. Play the lead. At the end of the show, stand centre-stage when the crowd has left, look at the empty seats with appreciation and take a bow.
4. Travel the world.
5. Own a large home. Keep dogs, gizmos, expensive furniture and decor etc. Earn a lot and engage in charity.
6. Social Activism. Fight till I drop.
7. Be happy unconditionally for over 6 hours at a stretch.
Five things I will not do even if it kills me.
1. Let myself be forced into it.
2. Cheat someone.
3. Take from the needy or the less-privileged.
4. Enter into a profession that gives me nothing.
5. Let anyone take advantage of my worth.
Five things I do when I'm away from the public.
1. Sing.
2. Look into the mirror and wonder who's looking back at me.
3. Touch myself and wonder if I truly exist.
4. Groan.
5. Dance or sway to the words and the rhythm.
Five fave sentences/quotes.
1. Remember, Remember, the face of you. Surrender, surrender to the touch of you.
2. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players
3. I, too, will fade away.
4. I'll be back. Look out for me.
5. There's No Need To Argue anymore.
Five things I'll make you wish you didn't do if you did.
1. Betray
2. Be unreasonable
3. Oppress the weak
4. Hypocrisy
5. Pull the carpet from beneath another's feet, when he deserved
People to tag-
1. Harshita
2. Neelav
3. Vipul
1. Open your eyes. Look at yourself. Don't live in Denial. Before it's too late....
2. Don't change if you don't feel the need to. Keep pretending if it makes you happy.
We won't wait forever.
3. It's over. We're no more. It's all for the best so accept it and move on.
4. You misled me all the while. You broke me. Now, you're gone. But I'll wait for you. I adore you. Someday, we'll meet. Remember me.
5. I only live because it makes you happy, and that's how long I'll live. If it weren't for you, I would've been gone.... long ago.
Seven things I’d love to do before I die.
1. Sing on stage. Record an album.
2. Find the one. And then....
3. Play the lead. At the end of the show, stand centre-stage when the crowd has left, look at the empty seats with appreciation and take a bow.
4. Travel the world.
5. Own a large home. Keep dogs, gizmos, expensive furniture and decor etc. Earn a lot and engage in charity.
6. Social Activism. Fight till I drop.
7. Be happy unconditionally for over 6 hours at a stretch.
Five things I will not do even if it kills me.
1. Let myself be forced into it.
2. Cheat someone.
3. Take from the needy or the less-privileged.
4. Enter into a profession that gives me nothing.
5. Let anyone take advantage of my worth.
Five things I do when I'm away from the public.
1. Sing.
2. Look into the mirror and wonder who's looking back at me.
3. Touch myself and wonder if I truly exist.
4. Groan.
5. Dance or sway to the words and the rhythm.
Five fave sentences/quotes.
1. Remember, Remember, the face of you. Surrender, surrender to the touch of you.
2. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players
3. I, too, will fade away.
4. I'll be back. Look out for me.
5. There's No Need To Argue anymore.
Five things I'll make you wish you didn't do if you did.
1. Betray
2. Be unreasonable
3. Oppress the weak
4. Hypocrisy
5. Pull the carpet from beneath another's feet, when he deserved
People to tag-
1. Harshita
2. Neelav
3. Vipul
Friday, 19 October 2007
Summer Sorrow
I truly wonder why "Summer of '69" is the anthem that it is. With all due respect, the composition is fabulous. The guitarring, I suppose, is superb!
But the words? They're so depressing.. A harbinger of the melancholic existence that awaits us and is inevitable.
It isn't just an ode to our younger years. For some, it serves as a reminder of a lifestyle that they would've wanted to live, even if only for a very short while, but couldn't. "Academics!!"
For the more fortunate who did live that summer of '69, a beautiful chapter of their lives that has ended.
Which of us led that normal life that absolutely normal life, none of which we'd want to change? Are we truly strong enough to let go of every unpleasant memory and consider our childhood well-lived, opportunities well taken and decisions well made?
More so, what lies ahead? Could it be as promising and inviting as the Summer of '69?
Did we truly spend a summer in a garage, fooling about with a six-string caring not for what lay ahead? Do we hold on, still, to those companions that we shared those moments with? Did we really ever think nothing would change?
What of those who walked away.... alone?
But the words? They're so depressing.. A harbinger of the melancholic existence that awaits us and is inevitable.
It isn't just an ode to our younger years. For some, it serves as a reminder of a lifestyle that they would've wanted to live, even if only for a very short while, but couldn't. "Academics!!"
For the more fortunate who did live that summer of '69, a beautiful chapter of their lives that has ended.
Which of us led that normal life that absolutely normal life, none of which we'd want to change? Are we truly strong enough to let go of every unpleasant memory and consider our childhood well-lived, opportunities well taken and decisions well made?
More so, what lies ahead? Could it be as promising and inviting as the Summer of '69?
Did we truly spend a summer in a garage, fooling about with a six-string caring not for what lay ahead? Do we hold on, still, to those companions that we shared those moments with? Did we really ever think nothing would change?
What of those who walked away.... alone?
Thursday, 27 September 2007
Confusions and Confessions
Hello there! It's been a long time, hasn't it!
I do not intend to abandon you all, dear readers. Thus, one would wonder why I do not write here for such long periods.
I may or may not have stated in the past that writing, for me, is a passion. That is less than half of the entire truth.
In reality, writing has proven to be more of a necessity than desire.
Over time, one accumulates within oneself a lot of creative energy that compels the mind to burst at the seams unless the energy is channelled through a provided outlet.
So where does that leave me at this moment? The truth is that I presently find myself with numerous exits for my creative drive. Every evening, I rehearse for a forthcoming play, soon I shall prepare for my fifth Model UN Conference, details and tid-bits of which I shall share soon; and the many people around me with whom I converse and argue, drain me to great extents of this energy.
Nonetheless, you cannot take from a writer his pen and conversely, a writer must not yield it himself. Thus, you would discover frequent updates on Reflections which isn't as much of an artistic effort as this blog but a soft and subtle effort to pen my thoughts that would otherwise be lost.
Hence, I request you to bear with me. Meanwhile, do explore my reflections and share some of your own.
Goodbye until another day!
I do not intend to abandon you all, dear readers. Thus, one would wonder why I do not write here for such long periods.
I may or may not have stated in the past that writing, for me, is a passion. That is less than half of the entire truth.
In reality, writing has proven to be more of a necessity than desire.
Over time, one accumulates within oneself a lot of creative energy that compels the mind to burst at the seams unless the energy is channelled through a provided outlet.
So where does that leave me at this moment? The truth is that I presently find myself with numerous exits for my creative drive. Every evening, I rehearse for a forthcoming play, soon I shall prepare for my fifth Model UN Conference, details and tid-bits of which I shall share soon; and the many people around me with whom I converse and argue, drain me to great extents of this energy.
Nonetheless, you cannot take from a writer his pen and conversely, a writer must not yield it himself. Thus, you would discover frequent updates on Reflections which isn't as much of an artistic effort as this blog but a soft and subtle effort to pen my thoughts that would otherwise be lost.
Hence, I request you to bear with me. Meanwhile, do explore my reflections and share some of your own.
Goodbye until another day!
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Retrospection..
It has been long. Not much has changed. Time, however, does seem to have passed.
I realise I haven't been writing too often. In fact, I can scarcely recall what I ever wrote about.
There comes the time when you don't feel obligation towards anyone but yourself, or the motivation is lacking. You feel that emotion has dried up temporarily. You are compelled to await the arrival of the next monsoon to reinvigorate your senses. Until then, you are tempted to revel in complacency.
Going through my archive, I fail to reconcile with the fact that I wrote some of those pieces. The humour doesn't appeal to me any more. I struggle to comprehend how I sold myself and exaggerated to amuse and appeal. Maybe it was because I was at a point in my life different from what I am in at present.
Then again, who can truly say?
I bid thy leave at present, promising to return very soon. And honour it, I shall.
I realise I haven't been writing too often. In fact, I can scarcely recall what I ever wrote about.
There comes the time when you don't feel obligation towards anyone but yourself, or the motivation is lacking. You feel that emotion has dried up temporarily. You are compelled to await the arrival of the next monsoon to reinvigorate your senses. Until then, you are tempted to revel in complacency.
Going through my archive, I fail to reconcile with the fact that I wrote some of those pieces. The humour doesn't appeal to me any more. I struggle to comprehend how I sold myself and exaggerated to amuse and appeal. Maybe it was because I was at a point in my life different from what I am in at present.
Then again, who can truly say?
I bid thy leave at present, promising to return very soon. And honour it, I shall.
Saturday, 11 August 2007
Monday, 23 July 2007
Misunderstandings
Ever find yourself in a sticky situation whereby you're standing with a group of people and you make a comment directed at someone but another individual in close vicinity over-hears it and mistakenly assumes that it was intended for him or her?
Or even worse, ever discovered that it would be rather difficult if not impossible to clear that misunderstanding because of one reason if not another?
And as the icing on the cake, ever wondered if the misunderstanding would become reason enough for you to perceive a substantial amount of threat from the misunderstander?
Well, I found myself in a situation that could be quite described by.... well, the description of the not-so-hypothetical state-of-affairs as given above.
Roughly two days ago, I happened to meet up with some friends at a location towards the south of Delhi as one, whom I shall call DJ, was scheduled to return to college the next day. As it would happen, I met with DJ and Medha in the afore-not-mentioned location (top secret as it was) and having spent some time in one Cafe Coffee Day (where we did not order anything) we decided to drop in at DJ's cousin's house in the neighbourhood outside of which I would have the unique opportunity of parking my car, that I had left only 15 minutes ago in the paid-parking-lot of the complex; and win a meet and greet with her cousin's dog that she loved so.
And so I paid the paid-parking-lot-attendant for hosting my car for a period of 15 minutes (which I wasn't too upset about since I paid him with a very tattered 10-rupee-note) and we departed towards the house. As DJ insisted on having a go at driving my car (which in reality is my mother's since I don't get a car of my own for a 2 month vacation) and, taking a lengthy detour so that she could drive a reasonable amount, she got us safe and sound at our destination.
After an initial meet and greet with her cousin and family, she introduced us to the fine Dalmatian dog, named Shadow. Intriguingly, the dog took an instant liking to Medha but wasn't quite so friendly towards me. Having completed one round of cordial conversation, we slipped into another on dogs and began to share our own experiences of raising dogs.
Having shared my anecdote of Dalmatian-for-a-week, the spotlight fell on Medha who confessed (proudly) of owning a fine German Shepard.
In cognition of my dislike for German Shepards and other massive dogs alike, I expressed my disapproval of possessing dogs that are a threat to society and promptly turned towards Medha and, in a rejecting tone, uttered "Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Meanwhile, Shadow had been slinking around the room, quite pointlessly in fact, and had pretty much ignored or failed to comprehend our entire conversation, interesting though it should have been to him. This did not, however, stop him from overhearing my last comment to Medha, which he quite obviously considered a comment directed at him and rebutted with a growl and snarl, baring his full teeth at me.
Needless to say, I was astounded and felt a wee bit threatened, wondering how I could resolve his misconception. To no avail.
Or even worse, ever discovered that it would be rather difficult if not impossible to clear that misunderstanding because of one reason if not another?
And as the icing on the cake, ever wondered if the misunderstanding would become reason enough for you to perceive a substantial amount of threat from the misunderstander?
Well, I found myself in a situation that could be quite described by.... well, the description of the not-so-hypothetical state-of-affairs as given above.
Roughly two days ago, I happened to meet up with some friends at a location towards the south of Delhi as one, whom I shall call DJ, was scheduled to return to college the next day. As it would happen, I met with DJ and Medha in the afore-not-mentioned location (top secret as it was) and having spent some time in one Cafe Coffee Day (where we did not order anything) we decided to drop in at DJ's cousin's house in the neighbourhood outside of which I would have the unique opportunity of parking my car, that I had left only 15 minutes ago in the paid-parking-lot of the complex; and win a meet and greet with her cousin's dog that she loved so.
And so I paid the paid-parking-lot-attendant for hosting my car for a period of 15 minutes (which I wasn't too upset about since I paid him with a very tattered 10-rupee-note) and we departed towards the house. As DJ insisted on having a go at driving my car (which in reality is my mother's since I don't get a car of my own for a 2 month vacation) and, taking a lengthy detour so that she could drive a reasonable amount, she got us safe and sound at our destination.
After an initial meet and greet with her cousin and family, she introduced us to the fine Dalmatian dog, named Shadow. Intriguingly, the dog took an instant liking to Medha but wasn't quite so friendly towards me. Having completed one round of cordial conversation, we slipped into another on dogs and began to share our own experiences of raising dogs.
Having shared my anecdote of Dalmatian-for-a-week, the spotlight fell on Medha who confessed (proudly) of owning a fine German Shepard.
In cognition of my dislike for German Shepards and other massive dogs alike, I expressed my disapproval of possessing dogs that are a threat to society and promptly turned towards Medha and, in a rejecting tone, uttered "Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Meanwhile, Shadow had been slinking around the room, quite pointlessly in fact, and had pretty much ignored or failed to comprehend our entire conversation, interesting though it should have been to him. This did not, however, stop him from overhearing my last comment to Medha, which he quite obviously considered a comment directed at him and rebutted with a growl and snarl, baring his full teeth at me.
Needless to say, I was astounded and felt a wee bit threatened, wondering how I could resolve his misconception. To no avail.
Monday, 16 July 2007
DentalDanger
Either way, it's my bad (luck). Is this what they call a lose-lose situation?
In 40 minutes, I have a dentist appointment. Reason? He wants to redo a silver filling and substitute it with a white one. It's optional really. Should I desire it, I can continue to look like Bicentennial Man every time I say "Aaaah". Otherwise, I hit the D's chair for yet another memorable experience, the kind that make us go "Even if I must have a painful end, I hope it isn't over here."
The dilemma is such.
Option 1. I visit the dentist, sit on his chair, he puts on the cursed light, turns on the drill, I stiffen up in pain, resembling a statue that's just watched "Koi Mil Gaya" for a 5th time or "Krishh" for the first, and he spends 5 minutes telling me to relax because "I haven't even started yet!"
Then he commences the ritual of excavating the old filling, I grip the arm rest too firmly, thereby deflating its cushion. Then comes the worst and my mouth begins to shut involuntarily and he asks me politely to fight it open. Thereafter, with the aid of my willpower, his guidance and a crowbar, we extract his drilling machine from in between my jaws and he finishes the job.
The filling is cleared out and he discovers further decay so he has to "go deeper." I can't decline obviously, thus I sing curse humanity in my head very loudly in an attempt to drown the pain, wondering why they don't do these things with anaesthesia.
When I'm a needle's distance away from a coma, he finishes up and I throw my arms up and shout "Praise The Lord", subsequently screaming in vicious pain and sending all the patients
in the waiting room scurrying out for their lives. We shake hands, he says "See you in 6 months." I verbally express agreement, mock him silently and leap out in freedom till the following year when father drags me back for a check-up.
Option 2. I don't visit him this once, my deepened cavity goes unnoticed, deepens further over the year, I return to him with a tooth-ache next summer, he shakes his finger while singing and dancing to the "I Told You So" song, I sit there embarrassed, receive a root-canal instead and curse my bad luck.
What am I going to do????
EDIT: I went, got one filling replaced, not too painful, almost enjoyable. Bye! And don't forget to visit your dentist every 6 months!
In 40 minutes, I have a dentist appointment. Reason? He wants to redo a silver filling and substitute it with a white one. It's optional really. Should I desire it, I can continue to look like Bicentennial Man every time I say "Aaaah". Otherwise, I hit the D's chair for yet another memorable experience, the kind that make us go "Even if I must have a painful end, I hope it isn't over here."
The dilemma is such.
Option 1. I visit the dentist, sit on his chair, he puts on the cursed light, turns on the drill, I stiffen up in pain, resembling a statue that's just watched "Koi Mil Gaya" for a 5th time or "Krishh" for the first, and he spends 5 minutes telling me to relax because "I haven't even started yet!"
Then he commences the ritual of excavating the old filling, I grip the arm rest too firmly, thereby deflating its cushion. Then comes the worst and my mouth begins to shut involuntarily and he asks me politely to fight it open. Thereafter, with the aid of my willpower, his guidance and a crowbar, we extract his drilling machine from in between my jaws and he finishes the job.
The filling is cleared out and he discovers further decay so he has to "go deeper." I can't decline obviously, thus I sing curse humanity in my head very loudly in an attempt to drown the pain, wondering why they don't do these things with anaesthesia.
When I'm a needle's distance away from a coma, he finishes up and I throw my arms up and shout "Praise The Lord", subsequently screaming in vicious pain and sending all the patients
in the waiting room scurrying out for their lives. We shake hands, he says "See you in 6 months." I verbally express agreement, mock him silently and leap out in freedom till the following year when father drags me back for a check-up.
Option 2. I don't visit him this once, my deepened cavity goes unnoticed, deepens further over the year, I return to him with a tooth-ache next summer, he shakes his finger while singing and dancing to the "I Told You So" song, I sit there embarrassed, receive a root-canal instead and curse my bad luck.
What am I going to do????
EDIT: I went, got one filling replaced, not too painful, almost enjoyable. Bye! And don't forget to visit your dentist every 6 months!
Thursday, 12 July 2007
I'd have prefered "A Storm" but....
| You Are Lightning |
 Beautiful yet dangerous People will stop and watch you when you appear Even though you're capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing |
Monday, 9 July 2007
TOW God went "Oops!"
I believe the reason we don't see god ever could be because god has banished himself for many many thousands of years as punishment. If he really exists, that is.
And assuming, even if hypothetically, that he exists, the reason that he would have to punish himself would be something like this..
I watched Die Hard 4.0 (Don't quite know yet why they put the .0 after the 4) yesterday and I can find myself drawing an analogy. I can't credit the film for stirring this thought in me, that I am about to share, because though it was a brilliant flick et all, I can't acknowledge it for accomplishing feats that it didn't really accomplish. It only happened that I drew that analogy 38 seconds ago with what I saw in the film yesterday.
Well, the analogy is such..
[analogy begins..]There was this person who a brilliant programmer. For people who're checking in from the Stone age and don't really know what a programmer is, don't bother wondering. Basically, there was this person who was really good at something.
[assumption]So he had this wonderful gift that empowered him to do great things. And he did some wonderful things for our benefit.[/assumption]
(Again, I use assumption tags here because I missed the first fifteen minutes of the film and can only assume he did those wonderful things in the first fifteen minutes of the film, especially because it would fit quite well with the storyline, and if that is in fact not how the film began, then the film isn't quite as good as I thought it was.)
Then one day, he did something that he thought was even more brilliant and noble and a favour to those who were watching him perform the brilliant task. Only, others who observed him thought it wasn't all that noble[/analogy] so they put a gun to his head and told him to stop performing this controversial "noble" task. If that wasn't enough, they disgraced him afterwards. That made this guy really mad. So he became evil and started trying to kill everyone and make lots of money for himself.
I ended the analogy in between the paragraph, as evident from the tags, because though god was gifted with powers to create a beautiful planet and wonderful plants, animals and fish (I don't like reptiles and I despise insects. A tortoise isn't a reptile, is it?) and then he did this horrid thing by creating Human Beings.... and the analogy ended there because no body put a gun to god's head (if he has one, if he exists) to tell him to stop and he didn't, afterwards, become evil and start killing everyone.... unless of course, he's causing Global Warming and fooling us into believing it's our fault, which I'm pretty sure isn't true. I doubt God is obsessed with making lots of money for himself because money is something we created just to point fingers and laugh at the poor people.
So after creating Human Beings and looking at what they turned out to be, he went "Oh golly!" and banished himself into a forest or an ocean (with Scuba Diving gear). Or he's probably hiding in the Himalayas, disguised as the Abominable Snowman. Or maybe he hasn't really disguised himself, and that's what he looked like all along and we just don't know.
Infinite possibilities really. But what is most likely a confirmed piece of news is that (if he exists,) he created humans, went "Oh Golly" and ran into hiding and abandonment as penance.
Why do I feel a sudden surge of hatred towards my own kind? It is probably because they're a selfish lot with inflated egos and go to any lengths to get what they want. When they see someone with something they desire, they start hurling insults and abuses at that person, thinking that they're quite quite smart when in fact, they're quite quite feather-brained.
[This post may or may not be "inspired" by anyone or anytwo or anymany in particular.... I'll leave that a mystery.] What I do maintain is that I think humans are an awful lot, only slightly better than crocodiles and more attractive than insects, though not as nice, and this is evident from how decent and kind and caring animals such as dogs are who love us unconditionally, until we pelt them with stones after which they're simply afraid of us. There are a few people who're actually very nice but they're very few and the number may be too large for me to count on my fingers because I only have ten but possibly can be counted by god on his fingers. If he has fingers. If he exists.
And assuming, even if hypothetically, that he exists, the reason that he would have to punish himself would be something like this..
I watched Die Hard 4.0 (Don't quite know yet why they put the .0 after the 4) yesterday and I can find myself drawing an analogy. I can't credit the film for stirring this thought in me, that I am about to share, because though it was a brilliant flick et all, I can't acknowledge it for accomplishing feats that it didn't really accomplish. It only happened that I drew that analogy 38 seconds ago with what I saw in the film yesterday.
Well, the analogy is such..
[analogy begins..]There was this person who a brilliant programmer. For people who're checking in from the Stone age and don't really know what a programmer is, don't bother wondering. Basically, there was this person who was really good at something.
(Again, I use assumption tags here because I missed the first fifteen minutes of the film and can only assume he did those wonderful things in the first fifteen minutes of the film, especially because it would fit quite well with the storyline, and if that is in fact not how the film began, then the film isn't quite as good as I thought it was.)
Then one day, he did something that he thought was even more brilliant and noble and a favour to those who were watching him perform the brilliant task. Only, others who observed him thought it wasn't all that noble[/analogy] so they put a gun to his head and told him to stop performing this controversial "noble" task. If that wasn't enough, they disgraced him afterwards. That made this guy really mad. So he became evil and started trying to kill everyone and make lots of money for himself.
I ended the analogy in between the paragraph, as evident from the tags, because though god was gifted with powers to create a beautiful planet and wonderful plants, animals and fish (I don't like reptiles and I despise insects. A tortoise isn't a reptile, is it?) and then he did this horrid thing by creating Human Beings.... and the analogy ended there because no body put a gun to god's head (if he has one, if he exists) to tell him to stop and he didn't, afterwards, become evil and start killing everyone.... unless of course, he's causing Global Warming and fooling us into believing it's our fault, which I'm pretty sure isn't true. I doubt God is obsessed with making lots of money for himself because money is something we created just to point fingers and laugh at the poor people.
So after creating Human Beings and looking at what they turned out to be, he went "Oh golly!" and banished himself into a forest or an ocean (with Scuba Diving gear). Or he's probably hiding in the Himalayas, disguised as the Abominable Snowman. Or maybe he hasn't really disguised himself, and that's what he looked like all along and we just don't know.
Infinite possibilities really. But what is most likely a confirmed piece of news is that (if he exists,) he created humans, went "Oh Golly" and ran into hiding and abandonment as penance.
Why do I feel a sudden surge of hatred towards my own kind? It is probably because they're a selfish lot with inflated egos and go to any lengths to get what they want. When they see someone with something they desire, they start hurling insults and abuses at that person, thinking that they're quite quite smart when in fact, they're quite quite feather-brained.
[This post may or may not be "inspired" by anyone or anytwo or anymany in particular.... I'll leave that a mystery.] What I do maintain is that I think humans are an awful lot, only slightly better than crocodiles and more attractive than insects, though not as nice, and this is evident from how decent and kind and caring animals such as dogs are who love us unconditionally, until we pelt them with stones after which they're simply afraid of us. There are a few people who're actually very nice but they're very few and the number may be too large for me to count on my fingers because I only have ten but possibly can be counted by god on his fingers. If he has fingers. If he exists.
Thursday, 28 June 2007
The Evolution of Man
We created agriculture. Then we created settlements. We built roads, we built houses. Then we built markets, and hence, society.
We formed relationships. As friends, then as spouses. We created offsprings and they took it forward. Then there came hatred, then envy, rivalry. Then superiority, inferiority. Then came celebrity and then, the common man.
Common Man was stratified into White, coloured and black. Master and servant. Caste and creed.
We grew food, then we wanted commodities. We made plates, glasses, jars. Someone decided to make it a profession. Thus came textile, cutlery, handicrafts, footwear. First came Cottage and then, Industry.
We realised Purchasing Power, we devised barter, and then currency. Then came moneylending and then, credit. We set up banks. We conceptualised finance.
We developed communication. We created languages. We discovered knowledge of things that wouldn't have mattered if we hadn't come this far already.
Thus came into picture, education. We created schools, then colleges. These taught us language, then math. We decided the importance of learning history and geography. We discovered physics and chemistry. We created art and learned to appreciate it. Music, literature, dance. And to remind ourselves of all that we had created, there was Theatre.
Thus, there arose the literate and the illiterate. The teacher and the student. Then the headmaster, supervisor, teacher, lecturer, professor, reader.
We discovered technology, we created travel and then a need to travel. There came carts, cycles, rickshaws, cars, buses, trams, trains, boats and ships. And then, aviation. We made roads and decided on traffic rules. There came a correct side of the road and a wrong one.
Society created norms and standards. It decided on ethics and conduct. It dictated morals and convention. It composed rules and regulations. Good and Bad. God and Devil. Karma.
Those who abided were sustained. For others, it made coventry and prison. In prison and outside, we saw cruelty and neglect. We saw atrocity and criminalisation. We saw discrimination. And penance.
From gathering and hunting food, we went to finding employment, garnering income and paying taxes. Banking and investments. Stocks and shares. We defined "Survival".
From the need of a cave to spend the night, we went to Real Estate. A hut, a cottage, an apartment, a house with a yard, a mansion. And in between, forts and palaces.
From gathering fruit and hunting meat, we went to cuisines in restaurants.
Friendship and fidelity.
Is man really an animal?
We formed relationships. As friends, then as spouses. We created offsprings and they took it forward. Then there came hatred, then envy, rivalry. Then superiority, inferiority. Then came celebrity and then, the common man.
Common Man was stratified into White, coloured and black. Master and servant. Caste and creed.
We grew food, then we wanted commodities. We made plates, glasses, jars. Someone decided to make it a profession. Thus came textile, cutlery, handicrafts, footwear. First came Cottage and then, Industry.
We realised Purchasing Power, we devised barter, and then currency. Then came moneylending and then, credit. We set up banks. We conceptualised finance.
We developed communication. We created languages. We discovered knowledge of things that wouldn't have mattered if we hadn't come this far already.
Thus came into picture, education. We created schools, then colleges. These taught us language, then math. We decided the importance of learning history and geography. We discovered physics and chemistry. We created art and learned to appreciate it. Music, literature, dance. And to remind ourselves of all that we had created, there was Theatre.
Thus, there arose the literate and the illiterate. The teacher and the student. Then the headmaster, supervisor, teacher, lecturer, professor, reader.
We discovered technology, we created travel and then a need to travel. There came carts, cycles, rickshaws, cars, buses, trams, trains, boats and ships. And then, aviation. We made roads and decided on traffic rules. There came a correct side of the road and a wrong one.
Society created norms and standards. It decided on ethics and conduct. It dictated morals and convention. It composed rules and regulations. Good and Bad. God and Devil. Karma.
Those who abided were sustained. For others, it made coventry and prison. In prison and outside, we saw cruelty and neglect. We saw atrocity and criminalisation. We saw discrimination. And penance.
From gathering and hunting food, we went to finding employment, garnering income and paying taxes. Banking and investments. Stocks and shares. We defined "Survival".
From the need of a cave to spend the night, we went to Real Estate. A hut, a cottage, an apartment, a house with a yard, a mansion. And in between, forts and palaces.
From gathering fruit and hunting meat, we went to cuisines in restaurants.
Friendship and fidelity.
Is man really an animal?
Thursday, 21 June 2007
Mission Atlantis
The countdown begins for the landing of NASA Space Shuttle Atlantis, that is scheduled to bring back to earth, Sunita Williams, NASA Astronaut of Indian descent who has spent the past 6 months at the International Space Centre, somewhere in outer-space.
Though few of the 2-billion populace of India are aware, the shuttle also carries six other astronauts (who are not of Indian descent).
As nation-wide prayers, organised by numerous educational and religious institutions, conducted by priests and attended by our masses, are held for the safe return of the "Indian" astronaut, your favourite reporter catches up with the various strata of Indian society that concern themselves with this rare spectacle.
...say the Priests
"We are praying for the well being of Sunita-beti. She is a good cultured Indian girl who is making the country proud by flying in space."
Though off the record,
"Right, so it isn't exactly the wedding season but money has never been this good during this time of the year and we have little reason to question or complain. Besides, we're concerned about the well-being of all individuals, Indian or phoren as long as there is some dakshina."
... says the Indian junta
"Sunita has brought pride and glory to the nation. Her accomplishments are a validation of the pinnacles to which Indians are ascending. She is like our own daughter and has become a house-hold name. We are proud of Sunita and we are proud of India."
Behind closed doors,
"Right, so we know she isn't exactly "Indian" or that she cares much about this country but we are, nonetheless, going to take a little bit of credit for her success. After all, somewhere up her family tree, someone was conceived on our soil, which is probably why she has triumphed in her work. So did you hear about Mrs. Malhotra? I heard she and her husband were....."
...says the Media
"After the unfortunate Columbia disaster of 2003, the entire nation is concerned with the safe arrival of Sunita Williams after her 6-month long space expedition. She is the second woman of Indian origin to fly in space and is capturing the interests of the Indian audiences nationwide."
Under the table,
"Right, so she's not exactly important to the nation and it isn't as if our political scenario, poverty, unemployment, illiteracy or low self-dignities are going to be alleviated by her return to planet earth but as long as we can fabricate her life-and-times into a catchy news-item and brainwash the Indian audiences into believing that she is an inspiration to and symbolises the needs and aspirations of our younger generations and that she defines India's competency at the global level, we're only helping her help us rake in some viewership and are offering her, in return, a spot in prime-time.
...say the little children
"Sunita didi is my role model. Some day, I hope to follow in her foot steps. She makes us proud of our country. We are proud of India."
Over some candy,
"*Munch munch* Ma'am asked us to say so.... Ek aur hai?"
Though few of the 2-billion populace of India are aware, the shuttle also carries six other astronauts (who are not of Indian descent).
As nation-wide prayers, organised by numerous educational and religious institutions, conducted by priests and attended by our masses, are held for the safe return of the "Indian" astronaut, your favourite reporter catches up with the various strata of Indian society that concern themselves with this rare spectacle.
...say the Priests
"We are praying for the well being of Sunita-beti. She is a good cultured Indian girl who is making the country proud by flying in space."
Though off the record,
"Right, so it isn't exactly the wedding season but money has never been this good during this time of the year and we have little reason to question or complain. Besides, we're concerned about the well-being of all individuals, Indian or phoren as long as there is some dakshina."
... says the Indian junta
"Sunita has brought pride and glory to the nation. Her accomplishments are a validation of the pinnacles to which Indians are ascending. She is like our own daughter and has become a house-hold name. We are proud of Sunita and we are proud of India."
Behind closed doors,
"Right, so we know she isn't exactly "Indian" or that she cares much about this country but we are, nonetheless, going to take a little bit of credit for her success. After all, somewhere up her family tree, someone was conceived on our soil, which is probably why she has triumphed in her work. So did you hear about Mrs. Malhotra? I heard she and her husband were....."
...says the Media
"After the unfortunate Columbia disaster of 2003, the entire nation is concerned with the safe arrival of Sunita Williams after her 6-month long space expedition. She is the second woman of Indian origin to fly in space and is capturing the interests of the Indian audiences nationwide."
Under the table,
"Right, so she's not exactly important to the nation and it isn't as if our political scenario, poverty, unemployment, illiteracy or low self-dignities are going to be alleviated by her return to planet earth but as long as we can fabricate her life-and-times into a catchy news-item and brainwash the Indian audiences into believing that she is an inspiration to and symbolises the needs and aspirations of our younger generations and that she defines India's competency at the global level, we're only helping her help us rake in some viewership and are offering her, in return, a spot in prime-time.
...say the little children
"Sunita didi is my role model. Some day, I hope to follow in her foot steps. She makes us proud of our country. We are proud of India."
Over some candy,
"*Munch munch* Ma'am asked us to say so.... Ek aur hai?"
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
Blue-Moon June
I return yet again to share with you a glorious experience I had last night.
But before I come to that, I shuttle back to the evening of June the 7th. That evening, I boarded a Jet Airways flight from Bangalore with my sister (who, on a side-note, managed to talk the ground-staff into allowing us 24 kgs of excess baggage at no charge) bound for home, which awaited us in New Delhi.
The flight, much to my disappointment, fell strongly short of my expectations. A ridiculous amount of turbulence (that I really can't blame them for) and a most unsatisfying dinner (that I certainly can) didn't quite treat us with the Jet experience. I suppose, in a convoluted way, we were reimbursing them for our excess baggage, though unfortunately at the cost of all the other passengers as well. Their bad.
And then, two hours and a half onwards, we stepped off the aircraft.
As we did so (the stepping off) I was greeted by a blast of warm air. Warm? It was excruciatingly HOT! I turned around to step back on to the air-craft and request the captain to promptly return to a destination where my fundamental-right-to-freedom-of-life-free-of-ridiculously-horrid-climate was not violated, but the moving crowd pushed me down the aero-stairs. I was choice-less.
During the three days that followed, I made myself home before either the air-conditioner blast or vertically under the fan, snapping at any individual that so much as dared to ask me to move so much an inch. When asked to perform any chores, I'd adopt an expression of utter shock and retaliate with my standard response of "In this HEAT!?!"
I'd become a cosseted one, over-indulged by my college.
But then on my fourth day here, magic occurred! It wasn't so hot any more! Scanty clouds camouflaged the grey smoke-ladened sky and I resolved that iron could not be smelted in open-air any longer. I thanked the weather gods and normal life began to return.
On the 8th day, another surprise was in store. It began to RAIN! And ever since, I would be woken every morning by the pitter-patter or raindrops on the balcony and the miniature asbestos roof.
Delhi just became a tad more inviting.
Last night undoubtedly took the cake. It happened such that we were returning from the international airport where my aunt had landed at 2 am from HongKong. Having received her and dropped her off at her place, we made our way homewards. As it so happened, my father developed a certain desire to sink his teeth into Club Sandwich. As it happens, not many eateries in the city are equipped to entertain such cravings at 4 am in the morning. Thus, we headed for the nearest 24-hour-coffee-shop-equipped-hotel, taking a detour through the ridge.
As we sped down an empty road, the windows rolled down, I popped out a hand, making waves in the rushing air. I was startled by a frosty nip. That, my father said, was one of the many gifts of the forests that fenced us, and the temperature outside wouldn't be in excess of 25.
Delhi is indeed a city like no other, with flora that few other metropolitans could boast of. As we sped down the stretch on that evening of June, it gave us an experience that was enchantingly.... December.
But before I come to that, I shuttle back to the evening of June the 7th. That evening, I boarded a Jet Airways flight from Bangalore with my sister (who, on a side-note, managed to talk the ground-staff into allowing us 24 kgs of excess baggage at no charge) bound for home, which awaited us in New Delhi.
The flight, much to my disappointment, fell strongly short of my expectations. A ridiculous amount of turbulence (that I really can't blame them for) and a most unsatisfying dinner (that I certainly can) didn't quite treat us with the Jet experience. I suppose, in a convoluted way, we were reimbursing them for our excess baggage, though unfortunately at the cost of all the other passengers as well. Their bad.
And then, two hours and a half onwards, we stepped off the aircraft.
As we did so (the stepping off) I was greeted by a blast of warm air. Warm? It was excruciatingly HOT! I turned around to step back on to the air-craft and request the captain to promptly return to a destination where my fundamental-right-to-freedom-of-life-free-of-ridiculously-horrid-climate was not violated, but the moving crowd pushed me down the aero-stairs. I was choice-less.
During the three days that followed, I made myself home before either the air-conditioner blast or vertically under the fan, snapping at any individual that so much as dared to ask me to move so much an inch. When asked to perform any chores, I'd adopt an expression of utter shock and retaliate with my standard response of "In this HEAT!?!"
I'd become a cosseted one, over-indulged by my college.
But then on my fourth day here, magic occurred! It wasn't so hot any more! Scanty clouds camouflaged the grey smoke-ladened sky and I resolved that iron could not be smelted in open-air any longer. I thanked the weather gods and normal life began to return.
On the 8th day, another surprise was in store. It began to RAIN! And ever since, I would be woken every morning by the pitter-patter or raindrops on the balcony and the miniature asbestos roof.
Delhi just became a tad more inviting.
Last night undoubtedly took the cake. It happened such that we were returning from the international airport where my aunt had landed at 2 am from HongKong. Having received her and dropped her off at her place, we made our way homewards. As it so happened, my father developed a certain desire to sink his teeth into Club Sandwich. As it happens, not many eateries in the city are equipped to entertain such cravings at 4 am in the morning. Thus, we headed for the nearest 24-hour-coffee-shop-equipped-hotel, taking a detour through the ridge.
As we sped down an empty road, the windows rolled down, I popped out a hand, making waves in the rushing air. I was startled by a frosty nip. That, my father said, was one of the many gifts of the forests that fenced us, and the temperature outside wouldn't be in excess of 25.
Delhi is indeed a city like no other, with flora that few other metropolitans could boast of. As we sped down the stretch on that evening of June, it gave us an experience that was enchantingly.... December.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
Finding solace somewhere....
Hiya.
Truth is, sometimes one is travelling in a car or having lunch or something of the sort and all these thoughts come into one's head, with some direction or intention and one starts pondering over them and wording them laced with wit and humour. One really enjoys how it well it seems to be turning out in one's head and laughs at the merrier aspects and sobs (silently) through the melancholic ones.
So the family may think you're nuts to be laughing and sobbing at absolutely nothing, but oh well!
When you finally sit yourself down before a sheet of paper or before a laptop computer or before one's personal-blogging-secretary/sexretary, those thoughts vanish so perfectly that one feels inclined to believe they were never there at all, quite like the story-line of a Karan Johar flick or Ekta Kapoor's story-writing skills. Truth is, if we hadn't reflected over something to such an extent, we wouldn't have bored ourselves of them.
And thus I endeavour to write this entry without any preconceived ideas or intentions. So it may be pathetic. Then again, it may not. Then again-again, it may fall somewhere in between. Who knows!
But approaching more sober and serious matters, there are times when life plays a cruel joke upon you that you are left wordless and numb. That home isn't quite home any more, and something feels very empty, both inside and out. You wish to get away to a foreign land where all is fresh and new and you can shut out thoughts of the bitter reality that exists, seeking solace in oblivion, hoping that maybe when you return, time will have healed and the ordeal will seem so far in the past that it is reduced to a distant memory. Distant memory, the kind that you want to shut out, to subjugate and you succeed to the extent that it feels old and forgotten. You feel that you have succeeded till those around you bring it up time and again. And you want to get away, even if it means getting away from those who love you and those you love. But it's just too painful and distressing to be around.
Time is a healer.
But time passes slowly, when you really need it to fly.
Truth is, sometimes one is travelling in a car or having lunch or something of the sort and all these thoughts come into one's head, with some direction or intention and one starts pondering over them and wording them laced with wit and humour. One really enjoys how it well it seems to be turning out in one's head and laughs at the merrier aspects and sobs (silently) through the melancholic ones.
So the family may think you're nuts to be laughing and sobbing at absolutely nothing, but oh well!
When you finally sit yourself down before a sheet of paper or before a laptop computer or before one's personal-blogging-secretary/sexretary, those thoughts vanish so perfectly that one feels inclined to believe they were never there at all, quite like the story-line of a Karan Johar flick or Ekta Kapoor's story-writing skills. Truth is, if we hadn't reflected over something to such an extent, we wouldn't have bored ourselves of them.
And thus I endeavour to write this entry without any preconceived ideas or intentions. So it may be pathetic. Then again, it may not. Then again-again, it may fall somewhere in between. Who knows!
But approaching more sober and serious matters, there are times when life plays a cruel joke upon you that you are left wordless and numb. That home isn't quite home any more, and something feels very empty, both inside and out. You wish to get away to a foreign land where all is fresh and new and you can shut out thoughts of the bitter reality that exists, seeking solace in oblivion, hoping that maybe when you return, time will have healed and the ordeal will seem so far in the past that it is reduced to a distant memory. Distant memory, the kind that you want to shut out, to subjugate and you succeed to the extent that it feels old and forgotten. You feel that you have succeeded till those around you bring it up time and again. And you want to get away, even if it means getting away from those who love you and those you love. But it's just too painful and distressing to be around.
Time is a healer.
But time passes slowly, when you really need it to fly.
Thursday, 14 June 2007
A lasting impact
Oh al right, agreed! It isn't polite to ignore those few individuals that visit your world. I cannot ignore you.
I haven't many humorous anecdotes to share, thus if you were in search for them, flutter away. Though I'm not exactly forcing myself to blog at present, I am making an effort.
The thing is, when you live in a hostel room, all that exists between one wall and another comprises 2 beds, 2 cupboards, 2 study tables (one of which is very messy, i.e., mine) and other little bits. The centrepiece is a wi-fi enabled lappietoppie. And when there is very little of other things to do on a lappietoppie, one logs on to Blogger and writes stuff and nonsense about one's tiresome modus vivendi. It's a very small world.
At home, all the things above reduce to one in measure along with a sister who hoards the internet connection at all hours of the day, thereby incapacitating Yours Truly to write to you all.
But today I have garnered the opportunity to acquiesce to your demands and shall comply.
As mentioned before, I have no outrageously uproarious events to relate, but a few less hilarious ones nonetheless.
1. The first occurred on my first day in Delhi. Scandalised by the weather conditions that I discovered upon stepping off the airplane, I vowed to discover an institution that would admit me during the day, allow me to loll about till evening when I could return home once the heat had subsided. Of course, the institution had to be severely air-conditioned.
One such inst. was the British Council Library. I discovered it as a viable option as it lay near the Metro track. Thus, I'd move from my air-conditioned house to an air-conditioned train, into an air-conditioned library, return to the air-conditioned train and back home when the weather was less exacerbating.
So I was returning from the library, with a brochure in my hand, walking towards the train when I chanced upon an old acquaintance from school ahead of me. This individual I had worked with in an event at school, and was not particularly fond of. I wouldn't have minded saying hello to him had he not been walking like a constipated chimpanzee, flirting aggressively with his companion.
As he was moving rather slow and I couldn't overtake him without being noticed, I crossed the road and began to approach the train from the other side.
And so I was trudging along when I happened to approach 3 gentlemen (approximately my age) who stood conveniently on my path. One looked right at me and I observed on his face, an expression of joy and jubilation, the sort one bears upon discovering an old friend.
"Dhruv!?!" he cried in joy. I smiled back, said hello and we spoke for 2-3 minutes, updating each other about where exactly it was that our lives had led us.
Eventually, I bade him goodbye, almost promising to meet him again. We didn't exchange numbers so I doubt he believed me.
As I walked away, I wondered if I had ever seen him before. His face was so refreshingly unfamiliar, I was truly puzzled. But since he managed to recognize me by name, I supposed he was not a total stranger.
Oh well, I suppose I touch people's lives such that many years after I have forgotten them, they still smile upon beholding my presence.
2. The second incident occurred two days ago. Having developed an interest in theatre over the past year, I agreed to attend a play with my father staged by the National School Of Drama. Though it was in hindi, I chose to risk it, and it was worth. The play titled Kafka - Ek Adhyay (meaning Kafka - A Chapter) was based on German writers Franz Kafka. The experience was entertaining owing to the German setting, costumes, short and awkward choreography and a brilliant portrayal of the lead actor's youngest sister Otla a lady whose name I don't quite recall. Her dialogue delivery and presence was so awe-inspiring that I was enamoured.
Caught in the enthusiasm of the experience, I was talked into attending another play 2 days later, an immensely popular musical titled "Ghansiram Kotwal." I'm sure the play lived upto all expectations. But owing to the Marathi-Hindi spoken for most of it, I did not understand a word.
I would've dismissed the 2 hours as wasted had it not been for a short moment that I shared.
It was any other dull scene, as incomprehensible as any other. On the stage were countless actors, one of whom was beloved Otla, who played minuscule parts in that drama, possibly owing to her inability to speak an archaic language. Having sung her lines, she stood in position, frozen. Possibly by chance, her gaze was directed towards me. Our eyes met. Mine were locked. And she smiled. A toothy smile.
Every time she appeared on stage after that, I observed her. She did not smile again.
I haven't many humorous anecdotes to share, thus if you were in search for them, flutter away. Though I'm not exactly forcing myself to blog at present, I am making an effort.
The thing is, when you live in a hostel room, all that exists between one wall and another comprises 2 beds, 2 cupboards, 2 study tables (one of which is very messy, i.e., mine) and other little bits. The centrepiece is a wi-fi enabled lappietoppie. And when there is very little of other things to do on a lappietoppie, one logs on to Blogger and writes stuff and nonsense about one's tiresome modus vivendi. It's a very small world.
At home, all the things above reduce to one in measure along with a sister who hoards the internet connection at all hours of the day, thereby incapacitating Yours Truly to write to you all.
But today I have garnered the opportunity to acquiesce to your demands and shall comply.
As mentioned before, I have no outrageously uproarious events to relate, but a few less hilarious ones nonetheless.
1. The first occurred on my first day in Delhi. Scandalised by the weather conditions that I discovered upon stepping off the airplane, I vowed to discover an institution that would admit me during the day, allow me to loll about till evening when I could return home once the heat had subsided. Of course, the institution had to be severely air-conditioned.
One such inst. was the British Council Library. I discovered it as a viable option as it lay near the Metro track. Thus, I'd move from my air-conditioned house to an air-conditioned train, into an air-conditioned library, return to the air-conditioned train and back home when the weather was less exacerbating.
So I was returning from the library, with a brochure in my hand, walking towards the train when I chanced upon an old acquaintance from school ahead of me. This individual I had worked with in an event at school, and was not particularly fond of. I wouldn't have minded saying hello to him had he not been walking like a constipated chimpanzee, flirting aggressively with his companion.
As he was moving rather slow and I couldn't overtake him without being noticed, I crossed the road and began to approach the train from the other side.
And so I was trudging along when I happened to approach 3 gentlemen (approximately my age) who stood conveniently on my path. One looked right at me and I observed on his face, an expression of joy and jubilation, the sort one bears upon discovering an old friend.
"Dhruv!?!" he cried in joy. I smiled back, said hello and we spoke for 2-3 minutes, updating each other about where exactly it was that our lives had led us.
Eventually, I bade him goodbye, almost promising to meet him again. We didn't exchange numbers so I doubt he believed me.
As I walked away, I wondered if I had ever seen him before. His face was so refreshingly unfamiliar, I was truly puzzled. But since he managed to recognize me by name, I supposed he was not a total stranger.
Oh well, I suppose I touch people's lives such that many years after I have forgotten them, they still smile upon beholding my presence.
2. The second incident occurred two days ago. Having developed an interest in theatre over the past year, I agreed to attend a play with my father staged by the National School Of Drama. Though it was in hindi, I chose to risk it, and it was worth. The play titled Kafka - Ek Adhyay (meaning Kafka - A Chapter) was based on German writers Franz Kafka. The experience was entertaining owing to the German setting, costumes, short and awkward choreography and a brilliant portrayal of the lead actor's youngest sister Otla a lady whose name I don't quite recall. Her dialogue delivery and presence was so awe-inspiring that I was enamoured.
Caught in the enthusiasm of the experience, I was talked into attending another play 2 days later, an immensely popular musical titled "Ghansiram Kotwal." I'm sure the play lived upto all expectations. But owing to the Marathi-Hindi spoken for most of it, I did not understand a word.
I would've dismissed the 2 hours as wasted had it not been for a short moment that I shared.
It was any other dull scene, as incomprehensible as any other. On the stage were countless actors, one of whom was beloved Otla, who played minuscule parts in that drama, possibly owing to her inability to speak an archaic language. Having sung her lines, she stood in position, frozen. Possibly by chance, her gaze was directed towards me. Our eyes met. Mine were locked. And she smiled. A toothy smile.
Every time she appeared on stage after that, I observed her. She did not smile again.
Sunday, 3 June 2007
Chapter 2
Hello Humans!
I present myself this evening at four minutes to midnight, not to share with you an uproarious tale, nor a horrific event but a dull rhetoric of who I am, what I want out of life and what I am up to these days.... except the bit about "Who I am" or "What I want out of life"
I am a ninteen year-ol....
Err, no wait.
Ah yes, I am presently in a position to wrap up with my end-semester examinations on the day after tomorrow, thereby earning one-fourth of my Engineering Degree.
Since the commencement of my exams, that I regarded with utmost gravity, I have completed reading "About A Boy" by Nick Hornby. The reason for this selection was that both the title and the author sounded resoundingly familiar to me, and I thus assumed that this title must have been a best-seller. My assumption was possibly incorrect but I, nonetheless, had a very good read.
I heard the book was adapted on the big screen, starring Hugh Grant, which annoys me because I feel that he's being type-casted. Thus, I hope never to end up watching the film.
Another title that I picked up yesterday was "The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-time" which you will notice was adapted on my previous blog title. That was because the title fit just fine.
The book is lovely. The narration is by a boy suffering from a form of autism. I wonder how the author (Mark Haddon) managed to interpret the thought process of an autistic.
If you have read the book, you will notice a slight resemblance between the style that the novel adopts and that of this blog entry. The effect is unintentional. It is simply a hangover, though hangovers usually don't occur till one is over with something and I've only completed half of the book.
I like TCIOTDITN because it leaves you with a good feeling. This is something Jayashree told me because I haven't finished the book yet.
I recently watched Amelie and The Color People and both of those movies left me with a good feeling, thus I know that I shall enjoy finishing this book.
Amelie is a brilliant film. I hope everyone gets to watch it in their lifetime. So is The Color Purple which is a controversial film directed by Steven Speilberg in 1985 starring Whoopie Goldberg and could be the most sensitive film he could have made.
That is all for now.
Good bye!
I present myself this evening at four minutes to midnight, not to share with you an uproarious tale, nor a horrific event but a dull rhetoric of who I am, what I want out of life and what I am up to these days.... except the bit about "Who I am" or "What I want out of life"
I am a ninteen year-ol....
Err, no wait.
Ah yes, I am presently in a position to wrap up with my end-semester examinations on the day after tomorrow, thereby earning one-fourth of my Engineering Degree.
Since the commencement of my exams, that I regarded with utmost gravity, I have completed reading "About A Boy" by Nick Hornby. The reason for this selection was that both the title and the author sounded resoundingly familiar to me, and I thus assumed that this title must have been a best-seller. My assumption was possibly incorrect but I, nonetheless, had a very good read.
I heard the book was adapted on the big screen, starring Hugh Grant, which annoys me because I feel that he's being type-casted. Thus, I hope never to end up watching the film.
Another title that I picked up yesterday was "The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-time" which you will notice was adapted on my previous blog title. That was because the title fit just fine.
The book is lovely. The narration is by a boy suffering from a form of autism. I wonder how the author (Mark Haddon) managed to interpret the thought process of an autistic.
If you have read the book, you will notice a slight resemblance between the style that the novel adopts and that of this blog entry. The effect is unintentional. It is simply a hangover, though hangovers usually don't occur till one is over with something and I've only completed half of the book.
I like TCIOTDITN because it leaves you with a good feeling. This is something Jayashree told me because I haven't finished the book yet.
I recently watched Amelie and The Color People and both of those movies left me with a good feeling, thus I know that I shall enjoy finishing this book.
Amelie is a brilliant film. I hope everyone gets to watch it in their lifetime. So is The Color Purple which is a controversial film directed by Steven Speilberg in 1985 starring Whoopie Goldberg and could be the most sensitive film he could have made.
That is all for now.
Good bye!
Saturday, 2 June 2007
The Curious Incident of the....
It's the talk of the town! Everyone is raving about it!
Recently unveiled, it isn't really the first of its kind, but a brilliant emulation of its predecessor. Newly renovated with sparkling clean tiles and vivid colours, it's the all new Air Conditioned Library!
In the past 2 weeks, you've witnessed so many walk through those glass doors. Everyone is in awe of it. How long can you contain your curiosity? Not long! What is the experience truly like? You desire first-hand knowledge.
Thus, on one fine day, you take the endeavour. It's late evening and you enter. Someone's even courteous enough to hold the door open for you, even though you don't quite know him.
As you enter, people look up from their books. And they stare at you.
"How odd," you think to yourself. "I wish they wouldn't stare so!"
You wander a bit, hoping that they'll return to their work rather soon. But they don't. They continue to peer at you. It is almost as if they have forgotten all boundaries of social conduct. They aren't even making the effort to pretend that they aren't intruding on your privacy. They're openly gazing!
You move away from the gazing eyes, towards another end of the hall. As you walk, everyone looks up. Some even point directly at you and laugh!
"What's wrong with them?" you wonder. "Have they absolutely no civic sense whatsoever?"
Evidently not!
I am, meanwhile, sitting at the round table at one far end of the hall. The clock is approaching ten (or rather, my watch is approaching ten, but I'm quite sure the clock would be complying as well.") The hall shall close, as per schedule, at half past, thus I have no more than half an hour of study with me. The pressure is building, and I am concentrating harder.
Suddenly, I observe you from the corner of my eye. I look up. You've disappeared.
"Stop hallucinating!" I tell myself, but only softly, less people think I'm schizophrenic. "You have tons left to finish!"
I return to my book. Two seconds pass. Then I notice you, again from the corner of my eye. I jerk my head upwards. AHA! I saw you! I smile. You ignore my presence altogether. Customarily, I would be offended. But I take the higher ground and overlook your hostility. I rise from my seat and follow you silently. You aren't aware, for you have your back towards me. I slowly withdraw my phone from my pocket and activate the camera.
CLICK!
You did not notice. I follow further.
Click! CLICK!
How very oblivious you are!
You begin to proceed away, towards the main door, possibly offended with all the glaring eyes. En route, you pause. I'm stalking you. I pause too.
You lower your posterior and defecate on the clean floor.
Everyone is observing. Everybody laughs! You quickly finish up and are on the move again.
You wonder why we are all amused at your presence amongst us. So you're a dog! Big deal! Has no one ever witnessed a dog in the library?
The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time in The Library. Indeed!
Recently unveiled, it isn't really the first of its kind, but a brilliant emulation of its predecessor. Newly renovated with sparkling clean tiles and vivid colours, it's the all new Air Conditioned Library!
In the past 2 weeks, you've witnessed so many walk through those glass doors. Everyone is in awe of it. How long can you contain your curiosity? Not long! What is the experience truly like? You desire first-hand knowledge.
Thus, on one fine day, you take the endeavour. It's late evening and you enter. Someone's even courteous enough to hold the door open for you, even though you don't quite know him.
As you enter, people look up from their books. And they stare at you.
"How odd," you think to yourself. "I wish they wouldn't stare so!"
You wander a bit, hoping that they'll return to their work rather soon. But they don't. They continue to peer at you. It is almost as if they have forgotten all boundaries of social conduct. They aren't even making the effort to pretend that they aren't intruding on your privacy. They're openly gazing!
You move away from the gazing eyes, towards another end of the hall. As you walk, everyone looks up. Some even point directly at you and laugh!
"What's wrong with them?" you wonder. "Have they absolutely no civic sense whatsoever?"
Evidently not!
I am, meanwhile, sitting at the round table at one far end of the hall. The clock is approaching ten (or rather, my watch is approaching ten, but I'm quite sure the clock would be complying as well.") The hall shall close, as per schedule, at half past, thus I have no more than half an hour of study with me. The pressure is building, and I am concentrating harder.
Suddenly, I observe you from the corner of my eye. I look up. You've disappeared.
"Stop hallucinating!" I tell myself, but only softly, less people think I'm schizophrenic. "You have tons left to finish!"
I return to my book. Two seconds pass. Then I notice you, again from the corner of my eye. I jerk my head upwards. AHA! I saw you! I smile. You ignore my presence altogether. Customarily, I would be offended. But I take the higher ground and overlook your hostility. I rise from my seat and follow you silently. You aren't aware, for you have your back towards me. I slowly withdraw my phone from my pocket and activate the camera.
CLICK!
You did not notice. I follow further.
Click! CLICK!
How very oblivious you are!
You begin to proceed away, towards the main door, possibly offended with all the glaring eyes. En route, you pause. I'm stalking you. I pause too.
You lower your posterior and defecate on the clean floor.
Everyone is observing. Everybody laughs! You quickly finish up and are on the move again.
You wonder why we are all amused at your presence amongst us. So you're a dog! Big deal! Has no one ever witnessed a dog in the library?
The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time in The Library. Indeed!
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
Breakfast At KC's
It was yet another handsome Sunday morning. The air was pleasantly cool, the crows were not cawing, and there was a Sunday-Morn Silence all around as the world would sleep till 10. Everything seemed to be at its usual, but for the trees outside my window. They were unerringly where I had left them the previous evening. Indeed, they hadn't moved an inch! What is most astonishing is that they don't appear to have budged ever since my earliest recollections of them. They simply remain where they are, all the time. Almost as if it is customary of them to remain put! Hmm.. Funny business.
As is not uncommon on Sunday mornings, both beautiful and dreadful ones, college was closed, which meant that the college canteen was shut leaving me with no choice but to seek alternative establishments to provide me my breakfast. One such establishment is called KC Canteen that is located roughly 127 steps away from my hostel gate. No, I haven't counted. It is an estimate (add or subtract a thousand). And that was precisely where I headed.
As most of the world is asleep at 9 AM on Sundays, I went unaccompanied. And for a fairly similar reason, I found that the canteen (hereafter referred to as KC) was not thronging with hungry college-goers as it usually is after 10.
Now a word or two about the canteen.... sorry, KC.... before we proceed. The capacity of KC does not exceed 30, with 4 people sharing a table (unless of course 6 people gracelessly force themselves onto one), thus if you visit alone, you are likely to have to share a table with a perfect stranger (and sometimes, a far-from-perfect one). During early and odd hours, however, low occupancy may allow you to afford a table-for-four all to yourself.
And that was the privilege that was bestowed upon me on that Sunday morning, for I was able to occupy the last unoccupied table in the canteen, with all others having an occupant or two.
The waiter appeared before me, with an expression of utter boredom on his visage. He always has an expression of boredom on his face, something that is nearly as constant as the position of the trees outside my window. Hmm.. Funny business.
I placed my order. He registered and left. Though I was not witness to the same and thus could never testify it before the court of law (with a clear conscience), my instincts told me that as he departed from before me, he continued to have an expression of utter boredom on his face. And that the trees still hadn't moved. Hmm.. Funny business.
So I sat there, waiting. The wait was not long, but in the course of the next minute, something apart from the ordinary happened.
The situation is such. Since I had no company at that ghastly hour on that Sunday morning and since there isn't anything particularly brilliant or attractive about the interiors of KC, I was gazing out the windows. As if it was meant to happen, my gaze fell upon a spectacle so cinematic that it unnerved me.
From a distance, I saw the advancement of nobody short of an adversary. Affectionately christened by me as Ess Row, you can read my tribute to him here.
Having experienced much more of his expertise in the field of English since I wrote that tribute, I take the opportunity to disclose more about this great dignitary with you at this point in time.
After attending one class of his, one pleads silently within, "Why?"
After attending 10 glorious lectures by him, one drops to his knees, clasps his hands together, looks up towards the heavens and screams in pain, "Why, god, why?"
After ending the fortieth, one loses faith in god.
Mercifully, no one has had to attend beyond 30.
As I was saying, I sat there and saw the enemy draw near. The effect was cinematic. He did not seem to be approaching the entrance to KC progressively, nor gliding, skipping or hopping towards it, for that matter. He was clearly charging. Gung-Ho! His figure was looming larger by the second and whatever remains of his hair to this day, was flying in the wind. How he enlivened that effect sans hi-tech equipment or cameras, I may perhaps never acertain. Though again I have no proof of the same since the window constrained my view, it appeared to me that he was riding a horse.
Now don't begin about the absurdity of owning horses in
To recapitulate thus far, on that Sunday morning, when the trees had not budged and the waiter at KC flaunted an expression of utter boredom on his face, Ess Row stormed in full spirit towards KC on a horse.
Needless to say I looked around me and panicked. No, I did not suddenly find myself in an army on a battlefield, soon to be attacked by Ess Row “The Indomitable”. What a did discover was that there remained not a single empty table in the canteen.
And tell me now, why should a person who can not find an empty table at KC, share one with a familiar face, be it a colleague or a defenceless student?
The reasoning may or may not be logical, but as it happened, I panicked.
Without sparing a thought, or even a fraction of it, I grabbed my belongings, rose like thunder, dove towards the adjacent table and collapsed onto the bench, opposite its formerly solitary occupant, and heaved a sigh of relief.
The unsuspecting bloke, on whose privacy I had unceremoniously intruded, seemed not to be cognizant of the English Professor that approached on a horse or anything out of the ordinary and thus found my behaviour most nonconforming. This was validated by the manner in which he glared at me, as if a hyena had materialised before him out of nothingness. To the best of my faculties, under the bizarre circumstances, I avoided his look.
Meanwhile, the waiter appeared with my order where I previously sat, and placed it before empty space. Noticing that he was serving food to hot air, that was unlikely to consume or pay for it, he raised an eyebrow to the best of his ability. As it dawned upon him that the empty space had not placed the order to begin with, he sought the entity that had.
Discovering me behind him, he placed the food where it belong and, with a slightly malformed expression of utter boredom on his face, departed.
My table companion glared at the apparating hyena, as it breakfasted on South Indian food.
Somewhere in the canteen, another unsuspecting and ill-fated bloke, discovering an unsolicited breakfast date imposed upon him, pleaded silently within himself, “Why?”
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Taggedy Dee
.
Tagged by Nishi
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
The only visible scar that I presently flaunt is on my right wrist. This also happens to be listed as my identification on my Passport. Interestingly, it appears to have faded, and thus, my passport is under jeopardy.
How did I get it? I cannot remember. I suppose I've had it ever since I can remember. A birthmark? Nah!
I do recall asking someone about it, when I was very young. As young people usually observe, scarcely so we receive an honest response. I was told that I was bit by a bird. Honestly, one would think I'd asked how babies were born.
Nonetheless, it endowed me with a good story to pass on to anyone who questioned its origin. Such as now.
Mon Hostel Room? Interestingly, a lot. Two cheap imitations of famous paintings, 2 frames with family pictures, an RBRRK calendar, two small wooden shelves with plastic creepers hanging off them, another work of art made by Jo for Chinti and 2 puppets by the windows that I got from Jaipur on my last trip. Then of course, there are the curtains. And 2 badminton rackets, scarcely used.
To give you an idea :-
Favourite Artist : Dolores O'Riordan. For more, check Orkut Profile, thanks.
The entire collection of episodes of I Love Lucy, I Dream Of Jeannie.
I may speak to the contrary when she wears them but I adore Mum's brown-coloured lenses on her.
And yes, a tip to all losers out there. The J is pronounced H, no matter what the blokes at Subway, Manipal may claim.
Tagged by Nishi
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
The only visible scar that I presently flaunt is on my right wrist. This also happens to be listed as my identification on my Passport. Interestingly, it appears to have faded, and thus, my passport is under jeopardy.
How did I get it? I cannot remember. I suppose I've had it ever since I can remember. A birthmark? Nah!
I do recall asking someone about it, when I was very young. As young people usually observe, scarcely so we receive an honest response. I was told that I was bit by a bird. Honestly, one would think I'd asked how babies were born.
Nonetheless, it endowed me with a good story to pass on to anyone who questioned its origin. Such as now.
2. What is on the walls in your room?
Mon bedroom? I cannot recall. A wooden shelf for sure, that carries dusty books. Maybe a calendar. Don't think there's much. One has enough side-tables at home to stock ones belongings.Mon Hostel Room? Interestingly, a lot. Two cheap imitations of famous paintings, 2 frames with family pictures, an RBRRK calendar, two small wooden shelves with plastic creepers hanging off them, another work of art made by Jo for Chinti and 2 puppets by the windows that I got from Jaipur on my last trip. Then of course, there are the curtains. And 2 badminton rackets, scarcely used.
To give you an idea :-
3.What does your phone look like?
Big, bulky, almost like a box.
But I love it! It combines a cell-phone with an iPod. A Sony Walkman! W550.
4.What music do you listen to?
Favourite Artist : Dolores O'Riordan. For more, check Orkut Profile, thanks.
5. What is your current desktop picture?
A snap I took at Railway Bridge, somewhere on the Konkan Railway. Thank you Kits for dragging me along and most importantly, thanks Bappa for taking us to such a heavenly place.
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
The entire collection of episodes of I Love Lucy, I Dream Of Jeannie.
7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
I don't think that's anything to believe or not believe in, as such. So I support it? In the long run, yes. As of now, I think de-criminalising homo~ty is of more importance.
In the US, I support it, yes. Canada, I respect.
8. What time were you born?
9. Are your parents still together?
Yes. Wish I could think of an alternative way of putting it, but nothing comes to mind.
10. What are you listening to?
Dolores O'Riordan - Are You Listening?
Track - Angel Fire (performed Live at The Hospital, London)
11. Do you get scared of the dark?
12. The last person to make you cry?
The way of the world is that he or she whose name I would quote here would be the first person to make me, thereafter. Thus, I shall decline to answer.
13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Sex Appeal! Yeah baby! My Very First!
Interestingly, my very first Deodorant (Just Do It! .... or was it simply "Do It!"??) was also my favourite for a very long time!
14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
I may speak to the contrary when she wears them but I adore Mum's brown-coloured lenses on her.
15. Do you like painkillers?
16. Are you too shy to ask out someone?
I'd be too shy to ask someone for a pencil. Oh alright, that's an exaggeration. For a favour, possibly yes. Does that answer?
17. Fave pizza topping?
And yes, a tip to all losers out there. The J is pronounced H, no matter what the blokes at Subway, Manipal may claim.
18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
I'd start with a serving of Pasta (Penne) in white sauce with garlic bread, followed by Baked Vegetables in Augratin, then pasta again. To finish it off, a pineapple soufflé and Mother Dairy's Strawberry Crush Ice-Cream!
Sob! I want home!
19. Who was the last person you made mad?
Err, I make lots of people mad with every passing second. I doubt I'd know.
20. Is anyone in love with you?
Who knows!
Saturday, 28 April 2007
A Sweet Sacrifice
I suppose my very first actual attempt at fiction. Re-reading it, it sounds awful to me. But I do consider it my very first.
____
Rahel sat behind his desk, sneaking glances at her. Her vibrant smile and shrill laughter made his heart flutter. He did not speak to her often, for he didn't have the courage to. He did, however, like her very much. Whenever he did gather the courage to initiate conversation, she was always cordial and polite but the words exchanged would be few. If she ever spoke to him, his knees would shake and occasionally, he would stutter.
Misha had always been popular. She wasn't very pretty but she was only 13 and beauty would grow on her in time. Rahel wasn't the only one who knew that. Many boys felt a passion for her. So far, only one had acted on it.
Vivek belonged to a wealthy family. There could be no other explanation to his handsome allowance. He was frequently at the canteen, a privilege few could afford at that age, and was often seen treating Misha, consequently buying time with her.
Rahel could not afford such frivolities on his allowance. He came from a modest household and was prudent with his expenditures. In his heart, he disliked Vivek, but not too much for he was not one to hold grudges.
The next day was 'Chocolate Day'. Some of the girls had been talking eagerly about it. Rahel had not heard of it before. Seemingly, people exchanged chocolates on that day as a gesture. A gesture of what? He did not know. Possibly affection. Probably friendship.
The thought made his mind wander. Soon, he found himself torn between his mind and his heart. H heart won.
That evening, he crept out of his house and walked to the nearest store. He felt his heart beatng loudly but did not know why. His every step was burdened with apprehension.
In the store, he glanced inside his wallet. A twenty rupee note was all that it had. It was a lot at that time for a person his age. He figured that if he bought a chocolate for less than fifteen, he'd have at least five rupees to himself.
He peered into the glass box with the chocolates on display. "How much?" he asked the shopkeeper, pointing at one that seemed neither too large, nor too small. Just right. "Twenty" was the response.
His heart fell. He contemplated. Then Misha came to his mind. He bought it. As he walked back, though the apprehension had not left him, he was filled with anticipation for the day to come.
The next day saw the tittering girls exchanging chocolates between themselves, though mostly candy. Rahel felt happy with the bar of chocolate in his pocket. He waited till he felt the moment was right. Soon, he knew the moment wouldn't come. After much deliberation, he rose and walked towards Misha. As always, his legs were weak and unsteady.
She sat behind her desk, munching at her candy while she gossiped with her friend.
He drew up to her. "Misha...." he called, in almost a whisper. She paused and turned around to face him. He reached into his pocket. As his fingers closed around the bar, Vivek appeared from behind.
"Happy Chocolate Day, Misha," he exclaimed while placing a box of Ferrero Rochers, an imported brand of expensive chocolate, in her hands.
"Oh my god!" cried Misha. "Thank you so much Vivek! I love these!" Her face was filled with delight as she beheld the treasure. "Oh Vivek, you spoil me! This is so unexpected!"
Suddenly aware of Rahel's presence amidst them, she turned to him, still smiling, "You called me, Rahel?"
"Oh no, it was nothing really," whispered Rahel, mostly to himself.
Misha looked at him, her smile giving way to slight bewilderment, as he stepped back and walked away.
____
Rahel sat behind his desk, sneaking glances at her. Her vibrant smile and shrill laughter made his heart flutter. He did not speak to her often, for he didn't have the courage to. He did, however, like her very much. Whenever he did gather the courage to initiate conversation, she was always cordial and polite but the words exchanged would be few. If she ever spoke to him, his knees would shake and occasionally, he would stutter.
Misha had always been popular. She wasn't very pretty but she was only 13 and beauty would grow on her in time. Rahel wasn't the only one who knew that. Many boys felt a passion for her. So far, only one had acted on it.
Vivek belonged to a wealthy family. There could be no other explanation to his handsome allowance. He was frequently at the canteen, a privilege few could afford at that age, and was often seen treating Misha, consequently buying time with her.
Rahel could not afford such frivolities on his allowance. He came from a modest household and was prudent with his expenditures. In his heart, he disliked Vivek, but not too much for he was not one to hold grudges.
The next day was 'Chocolate Day'. Some of the girls had been talking eagerly about it. Rahel had not heard of it before. Seemingly, people exchanged chocolates on that day as a gesture. A gesture of what? He did not know. Possibly affection. Probably friendship.
The thought made his mind wander. Soon, he found himself torn between his mind and his heart. H heart won.
That evening, he crept out of his house and walked to the nearest store. He felt his heart beatng loudly but did not know why. His every step was burdened with apprehension.
In the store, he glanced inside his wallet. A twenty rupee note was all that it had. It was a lot at that time for a person his age. He figured that if he bought a chocolate for less than fifteen, he'd have at least five rupees to himself.
He peered into the glass box with the chocolates on display. "How much?" he asked the shopkeeper, pointing at one that seemed neither too large, nor too small. Just right. "Twenty" was the response.
His heart fell. He contemplated. Then Misha came to his mind. He bought it. As he walked back, though the apprehension had not left him, he was filled with anticipation for the day to come.
The next day saw the tittering girls exchanging chocolates between themselves, though mostly candy. Rahel felt happy with the bar of chocolate in his pocket. He waited till he felt the moment was right. Soon, he knew the moment wouldn't come. After much deliberation, he rose and walked towards Misha. As always, his legs were weak and unsteady.
She sat behind her desk, munching at her candy while she gossiped with her friend.
He drew up to her. "Misha...." he called, in almost a whisper. She paused and turned around to face him. He reached into his pocket. As his fingers closed around the bar, Vivek appeared from behind.
"Happy Chocolate Day, Misha," he exclaimed while placing a box of Ferrero Rochers, an imported brand of expensive chocolate, in her hands.
"Oh my god!" cried Misha. "Thank you so much Vivek! I love these!" Her face was filled with delight as she beheld the treasure. "Oh Vivek, you spoil me! This is so unexpected!"
Suddenly aware of Rahel's presence amidst them, she turned to him, still smiling, "You called me, Rahel?"
"Oh no, it was nothing really," whispered Rahel, mostly to himself.
Misha looked at him, her smile giving way to slight bewilderment, as he stepped back and walked away.
Thursday, 26 April 2007
Barber Blooper
Howdy all! It has jolly well been a long time, hasn't it! I do not wish to abandon you all, thus I return.
To be able to return, one needs to have something to write about.. an anecdote or a limerick.
Poor memory, an uneventful life or the sheer lack of desire comprise some of the obstacles that deny us a story to share. There are those who write as an obligation. Then again, some of us refuse to compromise on our dignity by harping on endlessly about food.
Well, today I return for I have something to say.
Did you know that New York is not the capital of the United States? Err.. no, that's not it. I digress.
A yes, Barber Blooper.
Every time we blog, we attempt to title the post with the intention of summarising the entire narration in a few words. Then again, there are those who title an entry "My Trip To Alabama" and deliberate on the Indian Independence Struggle. But as you must've guessed, I do not belong to that category of persons.
So back to Barber Bloopers.
The event occurred at.... well, the barber's. On the scene were 3 boys, say Boy 1, Boy 2 and Boy Me as well as a girl, say Girl. Here, it may be noted that Girl was (is) a scamp.
Boy 1 needed a shave. Boy 2, Boy Me and Girl, you'd be interested to know, did not. Nonetheless, they accompanied to the barber as it conveniently fell on their way home and as it is sometimes expected of people the grounds of friendship.
Thus, we entered 'Super Hairdresser', which I'd suppose to be Manipal's most frequented Men's Saloon.
The layout of the saloon is as shown.
Door 1 would be the Main Door and the remaining 3 lead to 3 enclosures where one finds a lot of hair flying around.
As we entered through Door 1, Boy 1 promptly disappeared behind Door 3 into the A/C Enclosure of the parlour. As the glass walls were tinted, we could not observe what ensued behind them. As he has gone for over a quarter of an hour, rather excessive for a simple shave, we were puzzled as to what could beget the delay, tempting us to arrive at our own wicked conclusions. That he emerged with the top 2 buttons of his shirt undone only aggravated our curiosity. That they were undone even before he had disappeared behind the door was his saving grace.
During the wait, we sat on the benches adjacent to Door 1, looking disinterested in the general administration of the saloon. Time and again, an employee would appear from one of the three doors (2,3 or 4) and ask Boy 2 and Boy Me if we desired their services, since we were utilising the bench space, the oxygen within the room and the wind from their fan, particularly ear-marked for waiting customers. The girl was never questioned as it was a men's saloon. Owing to this discrimination, she was slightly offended and would occasionally requesting a shave. For some obnoxious and unfathomable reason, none of the barbers took her seriously.
Eventually, we tired of sitting and Boy Me rose, pulled Girl through Door 2 where a rather timid-looking bloke, whom I shall call Bloke, stood by a chair, gazing at the door. Boy Me pushed Girl towards him and convincingly proclaimed that Girl wanted a shave. A short explosion of laughter emerged from Girl, which she subsequently stifled, pulled a straight face and corroborated that she indeed wanted one that very moment. Bloke smiled from ear to ear and looked embarrassed, but refused to play along with us.
Just then, a barber walked around us from behind, picked up a hand-towel and started drying Bloke's face. Bloke walked past us to the cash counter to pay.
Meanwhile, Boy Me and Girl realised their blunder and burst out of Door 1, bursting with hysterical laughter that they were unable to control.
Bloke too emerged from the door, still smiling in embarrassment and blushing a crimson red.
To be able to return, one needs to have something to write about.. an anecdote or a limerick.
Poor memory, an uneventful life or the sheer lack of desire comprise some of the obstacles that deny us a story to share. There are those who write as an obligation. Then again, some of us refuse to compromise on our dignity by harping on endlessly about food.
Well, today I return for I have something to say.
Did you know that New York is not the capital of the United States? Err.. no, that's not it. I digress.
A yes, Barber Blooper.
Every time we blog, we attempt to title the post with the intention of summarising the entire narration in a few words. Then again, there are those who title an entry "My Trip To Alabama" and deliberate on the Indian Independence Struggle. But as you must've guessed, I do not belong to that category of persons.
So back to Barber Bloopers.
The event occurred at.... well, the barber's. On the scene were 3 boys, say Boy 1, Boy 2 and Boy Me as well as a girl, say Girl. Here, it may be noted that Girl was (is) a scamp.
Boy 1 needed a shave. Boy 2, Boy Me and Girl, you'd be interested to know, did not. Nonetheless, they accompanied to the barber as it conveniently fell on their way home and as it is sometimes expected of people the grounds of friendship.
Thus, we entered 'Super Hairdresser', which I'd suppose to be Manipal's most frequented Men's Saloon.
The layout of the saloon is as shown.
Door 1 would be the Main Door and the remaining 3 lead to 3 enclosures where one finds a lot of hair flying around.
As we entered through Door 1, Boy 1 promptly disappeared behind Door 3 into the A/C Enclosure of the parlour. As the glass walls were tinted, we could not observe what ensued behind them. As he has gone for over a quarter of an hour, rather excessive for a simple shave, we were puzzled as to what could beget the delay, tempting us to arrive at our own wicked conclusions. That he emerged with the top 2 buttons of his shirt undone only aggravated our curiosity. That they were undone even before he had disappeared behind the door was his saving grace.
During the wait, we sat on the benches adjacent to Door 1, looking disinterested in the general administration of the saloon. Time and again, an employee would appear from one of the three doors (2,3 or 4) and ask Boy 2 and Boy Me if we desired their services, since we were utilising the bench space, the oxygen within the room and the wind from their fan, particularly ear-marked for waiting customers. The girl was never questioned as it was a men's saloon. Owing to this discrimination, she was slightly offended and would occasionally requesting a shave. For some obnoxious and unfathomable reason, none of the barbers took her seriously.
Eventually, we tired of sitting and Boy Me rose, pulled Girl through Door 2 where a rather timid-looking bloke, whom I shall call Bloke, stood by a chair, gazing at the door. Boy Me pushed Girl towards him and convincingly proclaimed that Girl wanted a shave. A short explosion of laughter emerged from Girl, which she subsequently stifled, pulled a straight face and corroborated that she indeed wanted one that very moment. Bloke smiled from ear to ear and looked embarrassed, but refused to play along with us.
Just then, a barber walked around us from behind, picked up a hand-towel and started drying Bloke's face. Bloke walked past us to the cash counter to pay.
Meanwhile, Boy Me and Girl realised their blunder and burst out of Door 1, bursting with hysterical laughter that they were unable to control.
Bloke too emerged from the door, still smiling in embarrassment and blushing a crimson red.
Friday, 6 April 2007
Today's weather forecast
Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable!
The climate of this town is utterly profane. Who, when, where and how authorised the mercury to soar to such extent and the humidity to haunt the life out of us? How can such terrible weather be permitted?
Call the police, summon the Union Government, appeal to the Supreme Court. There has been a serious violation of Human Rights! An entire civilisation is under threat! If that wasn’t horrid enough, I too am part of it!
Why is this grave act of torture upon innocent masses being overlooked? Why aren’t the media reporting the agony that we are being subjected to? Why has the parliament not convened to discuss measures of control? Why has this climate not been condemned by diplomats from the world over? If we debate abolition of institutions such as capital punishment that only plague individuals on moral grounds, is it not imperative to advocate a ban on weather conditions such as these? It is nothing short of top priority. Then WHY are the concerned authorities not taking initiatives?
To make it worse, clouds mock us all day. They think it is all very amusing to hang there in the sky, look grey and promising and then just leave.
What are clouds made of, I ask you? What is their most fundamental composition? What is it you say? Water, is it? Well, why don’t we see any of it?
Can one ever consume butter that wouldn’t make his cholesterol rise? Have you ever purchased an umbrella that drenches you?
Then how can clouds contain water and feign dryness? The very thought of it is preposterous. And lo behold, I am told that nothing can be done about it.
Why would anyone say such a horrid thing? Why would anyone steal from another person an inkling of hope, a drop of desire and a pinch of motivation to fight the injustices that exist around him?
Did the people of
Then why oh why do we sit back as the climatic conditions jeer at us?
Outright blasphemy.
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
Sunday, 1 April 2007
Dream
Percy Bysshe "A dream has a power to poison sleep."
I differ. "A dream poisons sleep."
The day concludes. We return home after physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. We yearn for rejuvenation of our faculties to face another day. We yearn for replenishment of our senses, for a few hours of mental solace. We yearn for sleep.
We shut our eyes. Events of the day that has elapsed plague our minds. We push them away. They persist. We seek aid to squeeze them out of our minds. A child seeks a lullaby, an adult seeks a song.
Slowly, we begin to drift. Our physical senses lose control, but don't leave us. The mind detaches itself from them, but only almost.
We drift into an Other world. A world not very different from the one in which we lay 'asleep', yet different. Everything here is out-of-place, or rather in a different place. We may not be ourselves. At least, not in every way.
In our dreams, too, we face challenges. We are faced with many tasks to be accomplished. Yet, we cannot pursue them. Yet, the mind has no control over our physical senses. It must observe. In moments of intensity, it tries hard to hint the other self that contols our being, but cannot power over it.
Often, we are seeking for something that we may or may not be able to find. If found, it doesn't vaguely resemble what we had sought all along.
There is no reason, no logic, no pattern.... but a vague connection with our past or person. Nothing can be questioned. Everything must be endured.
We follow our other self as he journeys through a world we've never seen in person before yet is we treat it as familiar.
Nothing makes sense. Nothing fits. Yet we attempt to decipher it all. Our effort is futile for its fruit is soon forgotten by even our own self. Yet the effort is made.
Hours go by in what seems like seconds. Time stands still in the Other world.
The Other world begins to fade. From the darkness, emerges our own in which mind controls the body.
Another day.
The mind is fatigued. Yet, we must rise. Our senses protest but there is no one to listen. Another day has begun and we must rise.
When that day has ended, there is no solace. We must return to the Other world, which is scarcely constant.
This cycle is vicious. The mind is helpless. It protests, but no one listens.
Wednesday, 28 March 2007
Journey through the Ghats
A little piece I wrote in the train en route to Udupi from Goa a few weeks back
____
An ear
ly morning or late evening ride on the Konkan route is truly magical. The clock is soon to strike 7pm and I shall soon arrive at my destination, the temple town of Udupi.
The sun has set. Dusk shall fall soon. The pines stand tall and motionless but for the occasional gust of wind. The sky appears to be overcast but isn't. The expanse neither a shade of blue, nor one of red but falls somewhere conveniently in between. The hills yonder are no more than an outline. The mist averts the eye from beholding its details. They appear a dull shade of grey.
Lush open fields here are sporadic and few. The track is abounded by evergreen forests of the Western Ghats; but this land is not unconquered, but respected and preserved.
The train crosses over the occasional meandering stream. The ocean is not distant, though invisible. The rivers unite with the sea soon after. The union is unwinessed by our eye, to which the streams disappear behind the foliage.
We cross over a stream. The water us a dark mossy green.
A strong wind blows. The leaves and branches of the trees bend towards us, as if bowing in salute.
The train runs past a station. The stations here are small comprising no more than two, commonly a single platform. None can boast of much life or activity, contrasting their northern counterparts in every way.
Darkness has now fallen. The trees are now mere contours against the dark blue sky. Another stream. The water mirrors the dark blue. Every passing second brings me closer to my destination.
We enter a tunnel. We are made concious of the artificial lighting within the carrige, that had been 'over-shadowed' by the daylight all along. One feels as if one is underground. That the clock is past midnight.
We emerge. The mountain rocks are a glaring red. But the wall gradually plummets and the pines emerge and envelope the landscape yet again.
My station approaches from a distance. Soon, I shall conclude this voyage
and leave behind the tranquillity one experiences in this enchanting ride.
_____________
____
An ear
ly morning or late evening ride on the Konkan route is truly magical. The clock is soon to strike 7pm and I shall soon arrive at my destination, the temple town of Udupi.The sun has set. Dusk shall fall soon. The pines stand tall and motionless but for the occasional gust of wind. The sky appears to be overcast but isn't. The expanse neither a shade of blue, nor one of red but falls somewhere conveniently in between. The hills yonder are no more than an outline. The mist averts the eye from beholding its details. They appear a dull shade of grey.
Lush open fields here are sporadic and few. The track is abounded by evergreen forests of the Western Ghats; but this land is not unconquered, but respected and preserved.The train crosses over the occasional meandering stream. The ocean is not distant, though invisible. The rivers unite with the sea soon after. The union is unwinessed by our eye, to which the streams disappear behind the foliage.
We cross over a stream. The water us a dark mossy green.
A strong wind blows. The leaves and branches of the trees bend towards us, as if bowing in salute.The train runs past a station. The stations here are small comprising no more than two, commonly a single platform. None can boast of much life or activity, contrasting their northern counterparts in every way.
Darkness has now fallen. The trees are now mere contours against the dark blue sky. Another stream. The water mirrors the dark blue. Every passing second brings me closer to my destination.
We enter a tunnel. We are made concious of the artificial lighting within the carrige, that had been 'over-shadowed' by the daylight all along. One feels as if one is underground. That the clock is past midnight.We emerge. The mountain rocks are a glaring red. But the wall gradually plummets and the pines emerge and envelope the landscape yet again.
My station approaches from a distance. Soon, I shall conclude this voyage
and leave behind the tranquillity one experiences in this enchanting ride._____________
Monday, 26 March 2007
Another new.....
I was having breakfast with Keerti yesterday by the basketball court and as we were talking at length after weeks, we delved into a lot that had elapsed in the recent days.
In the course, we exchanged many thoughts which I found profound and intriguing but felt sure neither would remember too long into the future and that they would be lost with the moment.
I realised how often such thoughts cross our minds and are forgotten for we do not treasure them enough to pen them down. Otherwise, there are views that are known to all but scarcely thought or spoken off that too fade with time and generation. And I didn't want to let go of these thoughts....
Thus was born, Reflections....
In the course, we exchanged many thoughts which I found profound and intriguing but felt sure neither would remember too long into the future and that they would be lost with the moment.
I realised how often such thoughts cross our minds and are forgotten for we do not treasure them enough to pen them down. Otherwise, there are views that are known to all but scarcely thought or spoken off that too fade with time and generation. And I didn't want to let go of these thoughts....
Thus was born, Reflections....
Saturday, 24 March 2007
On Reservations in College and unfinished biscuits…
No, I plan not to preach either in favour or against an issue which has been debated not less than Sharukh Khan’s sexuality.
I speak of the reservation system followed in the Individual Study Hall (ISH) situated within the premises of my college Library. As people are many and seats are few (a commonplace peculiarity in this country), disciples of this establishment (the ISH) have a tendency to reserve for themselves a seat by leaving behind a bag or some books.
During exam-time, the practice catches steam, as does the anti-reservation movement, the clique of which takes the liberty of removing any belongings left behind in an attempt to reserve, in order to occupy that seat. Both the contrasting practices have worsened since the air-conditioning of the hall.
Not over an hour ago, an acquaintance who is a student of a sister-college, and is knee-deep in preparations for his ongoing sessional examinations, vacated a seat adjacent to mine. As our common friend is a strong anti-reservationist (not unlike myself), he removed from that seat all his belongings save for a packet of biscuits that I suppose he couldn’t find within himself to consume in entirety.
That packet of biscuits, in itself, found the capacity to brew quite an ordeal.
Through the first half hour, I observed many brainless gits who approached the table with the objective of occupying it, withdraw from the same on being confronted by the half-eaten packet of cookies that bore an ominous look. That was until one enterprising chap dared to brush the packet aside and occupy the seat. He began his (pretension of) study. Ten minutes elapsed.
A passing acquaintance (of his) happened to glance upon the packet that lay on his table. Her greed over-powered her principles. And before the average person could say “Boo!”….
*slow motion sequence begins*
Her arm extends towards the biscuits as she chirps in a deep yet mocking voice, “You’ll always be an unending supply of biscuits.”
The fellow, quick in his response yet abiding by the motion of the sequence, lets out a slow and painful moan “Nnnooo…”, thrusting his arm in order to impede hers as it extends towards the cookies, all the while bearing a look of sheer horror on his visage.
She withdraws her arm. The packet remains untouched. The fellow saves the day by preventing a most lethal grenade from being set off… err, or at least an untouched packet of biscuits from being touched.
*slow motion sequence ends*
“They’re not mine…. They were lying here from before” he laughed, cognisant of how embarrassing the incident could have been for his victim.
She blushed. First a light red, then a crimson followed by brown, purple and crimson again, all the while giggling in an attempt to camouflage her absolute humiliation.
The next 3 minutes elapse with him mocking at her naive exploit. She brushes off her taunts, but daren’t leave his side lest she give herself away and accede to his victory.
Eventually, he moves on to his theories on how the packet of biscuits could have found its way on that table, confirming every suspicion I had of his devotion towards his books through his last 15 minutes or so on that table. He concludes that it was someone’s innovative endeavour at reserving a seat.
The poor girl, his first victim, eventually retires to her seat and dissolves into deep meditation, seeking within herself a retaliation to his jibes.
More victims pass, some stopping for a biscuit, some not so greedy. To all unsuspecting twerps, he dishes out his theory on how some inventive boy could have attempted to save himself a seat using a packet of biscuits as the object of reservation. One wonders if this is how he passes his time here.
Finally, the first victim attains enlightenment. She slowly rises from her seat and trudges towards her victimiser with a look of utter triumph on her face, who has been joined by yet another passing friend.
He cajoles his first, lifting the packet and offering her a biscuit. She is unperturbed. She turns to the recent addition to the group and exclaims in a rehearsed tone, “It’s ironical how in the entire study hall, he chose the very seat that came with a packet of biscuits.”
He’s caught unaware and defends himself to no avail.
The packet of biscuits and I laugh, but neither too loudly.
She wins.
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