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?
Thursday, 28 June 2007
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!
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