Love To The Biphobe

Note: Anyone who subscribes to reading this agrees not to mention my boyfriend's name or any detail pertaining to him anywhere: on any social forum. If you have any doubts, you MUST leave this page NOW.

Dear biphobe,


You are everywhere   among the straight, among the non-. And this letter is my attempt at trying to win you over to my side. I won't give you empirical proofs or measurements. Just pure conviction drives me to do this. And love.


You might be over the shock that there exist homosexuals and transsexuals and transgenders and the intersex among you. But it does sound like giving away too much of your cake to think that there actually might be something like bisexuality. Bad news: there is.


What bisexuality means: that the person likes people belonging to both the sexes and is generally partial to one. (Pardon me for binarying the continuum of sex, Others.)

What you have made out a bisexual person to be: an individual who likes to have his/her cake and eat it too. A guy who likes to sleep with a guy secretly and chooses to marry a girl by day so as to avoid public humiliation. Or a girl who likes to sleep with a girl secretly and chooses to marry a  guy by day for the same lame excuse. Excuse me. *ahem*


I am bound to notice that, if you believe in the last paragraph very earnestly, you belong to that holier-than-thou legion which believes that heterosexuals or homosexuals don't sway. Or that they don't check out people outside of their marital/romantic/sexual relationship(s). Of course, in that case, you're that pious individual who tried hard to turn the other way when a hot person walked by while you were talking to your partner. Of course, it only seemed like you knew them from before. Of course, you looked at them not because you thought they were hot . . . you just thought they were someone you knew. Nevuh Mind.


And if you are heterosexual or homosexual, and if you believe the last thing you'd do in life would be to date a bisexual person, fie. You say you can't handle the competition you'd get from people belonging to both, your sex and the other. I say you can't handle your bigotry and judgemental attitude.


And I'm sure you've met a number of pathetic bisexual individuals. I have met as many, if not more, of mean people. And they don't always all come as 'bisexual'.


I thought of writing you a letter after I successfully convinced my mum about the fact that my relationship isn't frail. If you believe in your relationship, then that's strong enough, irrespective of whether 'bisexual' exists or not.

Love,

A bisexual guy's
boyfriend.

Mamma Mia!

Although I agree that mothers do assume a very important position in most children's development, I couldn't help but see sense when a friend voiced her dissent to the general eulogy for mothers to me some months ago. She said we have been brought up in a culture where we've been taught to believe that mothers always do things for the benefit of their offspring. And hence, that has been popular belief for quite long now.

Some mothers may not have been mothers    some out of whim, some because of force.

And hence, this post is NOT my vote of thanks solely to all the mothers of the world. It's my way of thanking everyone who has done what one would want a mother to do. I clarify, I am not speaking of the stereotypical responsibilities with which women have been entrusted for ages. 

Some children do not have mothers. And yet, if they grow up to be responsible, caring, well-balanced individuals, it does mean that they must have some person who holds light in the cup of their palm, a mother-figure who guides them, explicitly or implicitly, to choose a path; or to make the best of what they have; or to not lose faith.

A mother-figure in Social Psychology is a leader of a group, who plays a key role in supporting the group emotionally. 

Our Hindi teacher in school was once speaking to us about poets. She spoke of them as though, and not wrongly so, under two camps    one with the likes of Sant Kabir, and the other with Tulsidas, et al. While Sant Kabir preached that one must find God everywhere (in oneself, too) and not search for Him/Her/It, Tulsidas said there were the Gods and there were humans. Neither, our teacher said, was wrong per se. Sant Kabir tried bringing about a revolution of sorts among people who would resign to blatant fatalism. Tulsidas, meanwhile, was medicine to the Narcissistic overestimation of one's own capabilities.

What do I mean to establish by comparing two mother-figures from the past to all the mother-figures today? Just that, like everyone else, mother-figures are mortal and are susceptible to opinions and biases and mistakes, and that one mustn't lose hope in life just because one hasn't had the right kind of guidance.

To whom does my love go today, then? It belongs to all those individuals who, despite having been flawed individuals, have let their wards, siblings, neighbours or friends choose their ways in the world; who have lent a shoulder to someone who needed desperately to cry; who have been with people through silences and through tempests; and to all who have been snuffed out or have glowed through the uncertainties of being the light in others' lives.

Of course, I also thank my own mother for having been for me through whatever I have been in, but also every individual apart from her who has shared bouquets and borne brickbats    or has inspired me to; to everyone who taught me that the world must run not on the principle of division, but of sharing.

And I thank every mother of the world who dared to give birth in the face of calamity or gloom, having chosen hope over everything else.

And I thank every mother who thought for her child.

What A Stud!

I pierced my ear two days ago. Not ears. Not got my ears pierced. Well, I had had my ears pierced when I was an infant (some painful ritual) and I decided to bank on what was left of the holes. This evening, I went to the jeweller's and got a silver earring.

The thingything. I call it my earring. :D

People at different places have reacted differently to the fact that I have pierced my ears, and more recently, have had the audacity to actually wear something there. Some said I wasn't 'that kind of a roguish boy', while my mum defensively told the jeweller that 'boys' were wearing earrings now that girls weren't. The jeweller tried his best at not letting my mum benefit from any bargain by telling her that I will have hordes of girls vying for me now that I have a stud. *disgustedflatface* My dad asked me who I was obeying by wearing the earring; he asked if it was some kind of a trend. My music teacher (to my joy) suggested I wear something in silver. 




So, why exactly am I wearing an earring? Is it because it's a fad, a trend? No, because if it were, I would have jumped at every available opportunity to get something 'new-and-in'. Does wearing it make me cool? I'd admit to not knowing. I am certainly not wearing it for that reason. So, I'm wearing it just for the heck of it, aren't I? 




To some extent, that would be true. I am wearing it because I want to wear it. I am doing it because it gives me a sense of satisfaction doing what I want to do. And regardless of what others think I should do, I will do what I want to, irrespective of whether or not it conforms with what is expected of me.




Sharvari Aai says I am on my way to become a Non-conformist. I wouldn't know. The only thing I agree on knowing is that the only thing I conform to is my conscience.

Non-Conformism

We wrote letters to each other as a manner of saying goodbye at the end of Junior College. Quite surprisingly, almost everyone I received a letter from wrote that they admired me because I was 'genuine', 'out-of-the-ordinary' and 'not fake'. This raised many questions in my mind. What did they all mean by the same thing? Do I actually have a persona that can be admired? For you see, I was under the impression I was pretty boring to the outside world, because I hardly take much interest in social interaction and activity. In fact, I'm happiest when I'm by myself.

That brought me to the content of their appraisals. One friend said I stick to being myself, no matter what other people think, say or do. It's true: I've never really seen the point of changing for the world, because then you'd just spend more time behaving in a way that is not natural to you. This not only puts a barrier in your journey towards self-actualisation, but it also takes away the joy - the interest - you have in living. This attitude would, of course, make me 'out-of-the-ordinary', since according to my observations, not many people think like this, and neither do they want to. Being in their own closet space brings them security, and listening to the opposition of the world towards the impulses of their Id (the few rational ones), brings them conflict. People who emulate other people - may they be the 'popular' ones, or the ones belonging to a counterculture (which, even though put down as non-conformist, is really conforming to the fixed, albeit different, ideas of a group) - feel accepted by society.

Non-conformists, on the other hand, feel no such need. Even if they might be wearing the 'current' fashion trends, they do so because they like them, and not because everyone else does - or does not. Anti-conformists do exactly the opposite of what is the norm as a way of differentiating themselves from the crowd. Non-conformists usually don't know they are non-conformists, as had happened to poor me until a while ago.

This blog celebrates non-conformism. Weirdness is appreciated, welcomed and rewarded here. The moral of the story is: Be yourself, and don't follow the crowd. They most often don't know where they're going. Come on! Could you see where you were headed to if the street you were walking on was full of people? Crane your neck and look, and if you don't like where you're going, don't hesitate to turn and walk the other way.

Long Live the White (Hu-?)man!

"Hello, sir," the boy with the thirty-two-watt teeth in his mouth said. He shook hands with my Canadian friend and walked off. That was the first time in our lives my friend or I had come across this boy.


That, and a bunch of boys shouting 'hey, bro' at my friend from their school's (toilet?) window made me realise that foreigners were as much of a rarity in Dombivli (for I shall refrain from generalising it to all of Maharashtra or India) as any sense of privacy or basic etiquette while dealing with people who are not 'us'.


The distinctions begin at the root. To me, my friend is a friend and a human being. And my suspicions are that, to most Dombivlikars, my friend is a phorenar    just another face that stands for 'America' or 'England'. As my friend later pointed out to me, he was the centre of attraction because he was Caucasian; had it been a dark-complexioned person, regardless of their nationality, they would have become African to most people around. Likewise, every Asian person would've been Chinese or Nepalese.


The causes begin at the base of perception. Indian blockbuster-commercial-senseless-stupid movies have mostly portrayed Indians as a cut above the rest. If there is an Indian and a phorenar, and they are up against each other for something, the Indian has to be morally deserving of the prize   after all, by virtue of being Indian, he/she doesn't smoke, isn't a prostitute, doesn't sleep around town, and doesn't use four-lettered-words. And the phorenar does it all. Even one is enough for him/her to lose out. In Aa, ab laut chalein, everyone but the Indians was shown to be a stereotypical crack-house-like character. Well, the Indians in the movie could obviously use Indian swear-words (for they're not four-lettered usually) and spit and urinate in public. Shit. Pardon my French.


Finally, when we were seated on a bench in the compound of the building he was staying in, a man came up to my friend. I expected him to be an acquaintance of my friend. I wasn't very surprised, though, when all the man said was, "Namaste! Who house you come in?"


And at times, things cause you embarrassment. I wait for change. I hope it'll come. But not until the media and education portray foreigners more responsibly and realistically.

An Eclipse Sans The Twilight Saga

An SMS from Sharvari flashed across the screen of my mobile phone as I was walking out of my maths tuition-class:

"Look out of your window! A lunar eclipse!"

That was hardly less than enough to send me dashing towards someplace I could have an unperturbed view of the Moon from    for I come from a nation and a community which have quite a few intimidating myths associated with eclipses (more of this later).

From http://tech2.in.com

As I gazed at the phenomenon of the moon's complete shadow-ingestion   if I may say so   I couldn't help but wonder how it is a chance of sheer probability that an eclipse occurs. Later, in the train, when an interested co-passenger asked me the technicalities of an eclipse, even as I explained it all to him (which in turn made him ask me if I was a student of the Sciences and to which I replied, to his surprise, in the negative and that I was saying what I remembered from my ninth standard Geography), I pondered over the fact that the Earth forms a near-collinear pattern with the Sun and the Moon every full-Moon day, just that it's a little off the line. It's only on two or three occasions a year that it forms the required 55.5° with the Sun, casting its shadow on the Moon. How is it that so much of nature is planned to such repetitive details, I thought, and still do.

Enough of the Astronomy for now    the socio-cultural aspects of an eclipse in India are pretty weird at first sight, and it is quite simple to note that the fear of the eclipse emanates from the legend I'll tell you of. My granny always told me that when Lord Ganesha, the God of the Arts and knowledge fell down while running with his mouth filled with modakas (an Indian sweetmeat) and hands laden with them too, the Moon started laughing at the 'comical' situation (who of us wouldn't have? The Moon couldn't have rushed to save Ganesha even!) and Ganesha took offence. He then put a curse on the Moon that 'snakes will come to bite' the Moon. That's an eclipse for you (well, at least if you're Hindu :P).

It's forbidden to cut vegetables, have food, play (for you might get hurt and the wound shall not heal quickly) or even drink water when the eclipse strikes (not very much unlike the way a clock does :P). And after the eclipse is gone and done with, you must have a bath, can gorge on food,  and life comes back to 'normal'    that is, if you can ignore the hordes of beggars on the streets demanding their share of alms after the world has been rid of a huge strike of lunar eclipse! :P

The Anti-masculist Web

Sharvari told me today how her mum reacted to her decision of coming back to college for a degree in English Literature once she's done with one in Psychology    Aai's aai seems to have been pleased by the fact that Sharvari Aai isn't concerned just about degrees, but about education as a holistic concept. One year spent on learning something newer and/or deeper is certainly not a waste of time.




I wonder, at this moment, how my mum would react were I to tell her I want to do something of that sort. Am I allowed to assume? I have never asked her anything of that sort, though I have told her an umpteen number of times that I am going to remain studying at least till when I am 35. And she's reacted to it as if it were a joke    laughing, telling me how I might want to work by then (not that I said what I said in a very serious tone :P ). But I'll be asking my dad at the end of this post to gauge his response. Fingers crossed to that. :)




One must here realise that I come from a society where social responsibilities are hugely segregated according to sex. Earning would be expected of men in their twenties while only would be so much as appreciated of women of the same age (or any age, for that matter). Thus, it is not just the women who end up losing out on a lot of opportunities, but also the men    at an age when people in the more developed countries might be experimenting fields and disciplines (I am considering here that people have a general urge to gain knowledge), Indians are stuck with and unwilling to reach out beyond what education they already have obtained    out of what psychologists call learnt helplessness.




But I am going to fight my way out of this morass.




P.S. My dad considers pursuing another course along with the one after my first degree to be an intelligent move    he thinks about how I can avoid wasting a year. 


P.P.S. I'm sad. :'(

What Gives You The Edge?

न चोरहार्यं न च राजहार्यं न भ्रातृभाज्यं न च भारकारी।

व्यये कृते वर्धत एव नित्यं विद्याधनं सर्वधनप्रधानम्॥

(It cannot be stolen by a thief and cannot be conquered by a king;

It does not get divided among siblings, and isn’t burdensome.

Whenever it changes, it grows—

The wealth of knowledge is the best of all wealth.)

The concept of knowledge is synonymous to that of education. No, I am not limiting education to academic education alone. Directly or indirectly, every form of knowledge gained is through education—self-education, mass education, adult literacy drives, discoveries, innovations and inventions, even toilet training.

Today is Education Day in India, marking Maulana Abul Kalam Azad’s birth date. I do not remember who he was or what he did, though I remember that his name did appear in the Indian freedom struggle, in the passing. What I intend to speak about here has perhaps more got to do with education than a pompous celebration of it. How can you define education? I believe that when a human learns to control the inborn beast in him or her, and when he or she aims at better living, puts to use the maximum of resources and faculties he or she has learnt to use, he or she is educated. When one realises his or her responsibilities towards others, and when one is able to think of others as someone like oneself, one is educated. When one realises that it all comes back to where it began from, one is educated.

We all exist with our demons; we are incomplete without them. But to accept that there is one is education. How does one rise above the rest? How did the Buddha or the Christ or the Prophet or persons of their calibre manage to be people the world thinks of? What set them apart? The word is enlightenment. And since you get enlightened only alone, for every kind of knowledge only makes you wiser, you need to share. Yes, to learn to share is education.

We had the Prime Minister’s message for us being read out in class by Ms Debjani, our French teacher. After having read it out, she told us how knowledge, like smiles or yawns, spreads contagiously. She told us how someday if she were to need some kind of help, and if a person were to help her, she will be reminded that she helped many people grow to be educated people, and that sense of ‘educatedness’ has travelled from them all, to her—it all comes back to you.

I’d conclude by leaving Steve Jobs’ message with you.

Stay hungry, stay foolish.

Sharm-ka-taaj

I had been to Mahabaleshwar this week. Well, four days this week. And I missed Criminal Minds for it. I am going to make-good that sometime soon, but what I am now writing is about an advertisement I watched on TV.

Aamir Khan was on it, and it was about Indians lacking, in general, a sense of pride and joy in keeping their surroundings clean. I, at the risk of being labelled an unpatriotic twerp, I wonder how apathy and selfishness amongst us Indians have reached those alarming levels of caring to be clean, but not enough about keeping clean. So, spitting and urinating and defecating in the open, wiping your hands well enough only to push the tissue out of the window (discreetly, ‘sophisticatedly’), and forcing others to think your way—considering garbage to be carried around as some burden that needs carting around would feature on the top no-no list.

To say that all of us are like that would be a gross humiliation of Indian values. The fact that we have been an agricultural nation, but are no more exclusively that, hasn’t, I guess, registered properly in our consciousnesses. Fifty years ago, our wastes were hugely only biodegradable. Now, for we have extended our arms in the plastic industries, we have more medical and chemical and non-biodegradable garbage we ever had before. We who say ‘बूँद-बूँद से ही सागर बनता है।‘(the sea is, but made of drops of water) fail to understand that every small piece of toxic addition to the environment is actually affecting our living and others’.

I don’t know if the ad-campaign will attain its goals as soon as it hopes to do, but I believe that if there is a शर्म का ताज campaign and if they take volunteers, I am resolutely going to be a part of it.

Light and Dark

When I opened this page, I expected a long and arduous report from Jai about how much he loves celebrating Diwali, with mellifluous adjectives and ardent descriptions. But I had forgotten that Jai is not in town. And hence, the responsibility of expressing these sentiments falls upon me.

I am neither a lover of bright lights nor of pitch dark. I prefer it somewhere in the middle - like the meaning of my name - I prefer twilight. What attraction, then, does the Festival of Lights hold for me? Simply put, staying true to my ferocious Aries blood, I like the vigour and excitement that this time of the year exudes. Yes, there are a few short tempers, a frown here and there, but who can remain upset for long when the house is overflowing with sweet delicacies and the hustle-bustle of busy feet? For even if you have no close relations, or are not in the habit of going on vacations, Diwali is celebrated with as much enjoyment as it would be if you were on a green hilltop with crackers bursting in the chill night sky.

Isn't it strange that the festival of lights - Diwali - occurs so close to the festival of dark terrors - Hallowe'en? Soon the days will start to ebb early and the nights will lengthen. In the West, children in costumes of varying designs will step out and go 'trick-or-treat'ing. Some say that phantoms rise on All Hallows' Eve, that the dead shake in their earthly tombs, while some others profess that it is an occasion to invoke spiritual lessons about death and mortality in the minds of children.

While Diwali has gathered up her sari and bid us farewell until next year, Hallowe'en approaches in his dark robe, silent and watchful. Happy Diwali and a great Hallowe'en to everyone (and everything) out there!

Laus Deo

To anyone who has read The Lost Symbol, this phrase makes perfect sense. Praise God. Why, you would ask, am I talking about God here when Jai baba has pronounced himself 'generally ignostic'? Well, Jai baba's 'a little Deist philosophy' might be a scrap off my Theism.

Simply put, I believe in God. Why I praise God, is because God is a genius. A thought occurred to me today, as thought often do on long walks. The complexity of the Universe as we see it, the amount of webs in it, the tangle of one life - yours, mine, Person X's - could be created only by a God-force. The human mind, though capable of enormous powers perhaps as yet unknown, struggles to create even a single variable - a single sentence, a single note of music - fearing retribution, risking failure. Then God, who is of course superhuman, is truly praiseworthy to be able to set out this complex web of Fate, Destiny and countless living creatures with minds of their own.

How did God accomplish Creation? Where did God come from? Who is God? Or as Jai would ask, what is God?

I am not here to seek those answers. Perhaps I am not yet ready. I have learned a few lessons before these sixteen years of my life - I have mastered the vices of Hatred and Murder. How I know this, I do not know. But I do know I have mastered them, for I seem to have carried those virtues with me in this life. And I am sure, I am close to meeting with the greatest soul, the Paramatma, the Parabrahman, the Great Architect of the Universe. Until then, I must learn to look out and marvel.

Truly, Laus Deo. Praise God.

Hindu. For A Day.

I am generally ignostic. 




Add to that a little Deist philosophy. And on one day of the year (which actually is my favourite day on the calendar) I turn Hindu. 

Being brought up in a South Indian Hindu family, I have always been in a house where Navratri and Dussehra are important festivals. The day before Dussehra is when you tuck away books (thanks to exams, symbolically only) and musical instruments. On the next day, you get to play/ read them.

As though it were a new beginning. It really is. Enmity is to be forgotten, and seeds of affinity and friendship are to be sown. The Mahishasuramardini (translated as 'the slayer of the bull-headed demon) slayed the Mahishasur (the demon) this day, after having gone through 9 days of battle. Pain and humiliation, hatred and disgust, hostility and isolation, ill-will and distrust, disrespect and jealousy, the ten of them, are to go down the drain, never to see the light of the day again. On the last day, you start new things    start learning an art or a science, set new goals, worship the things your life has depended on in someway (as a way to thank them    like in Mumbai, people worship and decorate the local trains, truly the lifeline of Mumbai). It's a day you worship Saraswati, the Goddess of knowledge and intellect; she is my favourite Hindu Goddess. 




It's a day I hold to be a harbinger of goodness ahead. Maybe the world will get a little better, maybe the evil will evaporate a little, maybe ignorance will be driven away a little. 




I like to believe that it does. 

Names

In India, unless your parents are very careful about documents, the government official decides your name.




Like Sharvari Joshi was misspelled as Sharwari Joshi. And I was fortunately named Jai. 




The story goes back to whenever the custom came in. In my community, the TamBrahm community, you name kids after their grandparents' names. Like, I am called Jai because my grandfather's name was Jayaraman (and partly also because of the fact that he was alive when I was born    people would have found it offensive to call a kid by the name of someone elderly; and hence the shortened form).




Yesterday, I had an appointment with my dentist/orthodontist; we did an X-ray and it turns out that the person at the X-ray centre could spell Subramaniam Subramanium Subramanian correctly. Names also come with strings attached. Some people need to spell out their names to people (like Shawn Shaun Sean or Jay Jai or whatever). Some need to do a show-and-tell to show people how it's pronounced (like Daphyne or Daphne). Some search unsuccessfully for meanings for their names (like i'd-rather-not-say-it). And some others can't help but muse at the paradox or tautology of their names and their personalities (like a brave person called Veer or a Courage, the cowardly dog). 




You may be Nevaeh and still not a hellish brat, or Merlin and still not a magician.




But your names do define you. Imagine Lilith (she was the first woman, not Eve) and Adam being '1' and '2' and us being '6 billion-something'.




So, if you are an Indian, I'd you rather better become a little more vigilant about what goes on your kid's birth certificate.

Freedom From What?

A very happy Independence Day to all Indians.


Or is it?


Not the 'happy' part. The 'all' part.


It began in the morning. I was going to my college festival, Malhar, and was waiting at the railway station for a friend to come. Meanwhile, I saw a few kids approach some elders with the objective of selling paper-brooches (replicas of the Indian tricolour). A man bought a brooch. Another did not. Even I said I did not want one to a boy who came to me. And then, a woman, out of the blue, approached my friend with a brooch and almost pinned it to her top. My friend said she did not want one either.


To many of us, at least seemingly, Independence Day is a day of celebration of freedom, of our varied history and culture    which I don't refute    however, freedom of what? From what? To do what?


If I may elucidate further, it would be the freedom to wish everyone a happy Independence Day; the freedom to sing our national anthem; the freedom to display flags at homes and at places of work and to step on those same flags the next day; the freedom to swear at everyone and anyone; the freedom to do what one wants; the freedom to forget the bad and the good; the freedom to blame others where we should be to blame; the freedom to get the juice out of a system while being totally useless in every possible way; the freedom to get past every echelon of power by showing your VIP pass; the freedom of crying that a battered wife has, after 65 years of Independence, finally got (an anti-climax, wouldn't that be, that a woman got the political right to vote earlier, and then the social right to even cry?); the freedom to shut up to oppression; the freedom to remain blind when what atrocity you see (if not endure) doesn't do enough in itself to blind you; the freedom, in spite of all the littering and spitting and vandalism you've done and all the hatred you've stored and spread, to say, "I love India" without the slightest undertone of shame; the freedom to discriminate; the freedom to belittle; the freedom to care for some and to not care less for others.

Is that what freedom is about? As Clifton Davis put it succinctly, 

"With Freedom, Comes Responsibility."

And while coming back from college, today, I saw a man drag a little boy and another man drag another little boy to the Railway Police Station. I became Peeping Tom. I did not help. I did not not help. Just stood there, watching. Perhaps the guys had picked someone's pocket. Maybe they'd just done something to 'spoil' the men's Independence Day. 

I wonder how many people of this one-billion-odd-populated country have the right to know what freedom is, let alone what Independence Day is (they usually just know when it is).

I wonder if the men would have dragged their own sons like that. Probably. More probably, they'd have just slapped the kid once and then got done over it. 

All of this reminds me of the grand but deep truth that George Orwell, in as far behind in time as 1943-'44, observed    

"All animals are equal;

but some are more equal than others."

And I won't shut up believing it's going to be like that forever. My teacher for Political Science once said,

"The country is free, not its people."

I don't want it to be like that forever.

She

I was travelling in a Kalyan Fast today when a really tall girl got in, and stood stubbornly at the door. She wasn't rude, nor was she intrusive. She was just so tall that her head grazed the ceiling of the door, and no one behind her could see the scenery outside. I was standing behind her, very squashed and very astonished. At first, I noticed scratches that looked suspiciously like scars, and then a large burn, on her arm. Further, I noticed various tattoos on the other arm. Must be either a rock artist or an army officer, I thought to myself.

After a while, she asked us if the train was slow from Thane. Her voice, strangely, was deep and resonant. When we replied in the affirmative, she calmly took a packet of tobacco from her purse and started chewing it. I kept staring. Which woman who looks educated and travels by First Class would eat cheap tobacco? Here, obviously, my surprise did not stem from the fact that she was a woman, but from the fact that she surely knew tobacco-chewing is not very healthy.

Then, she turned a bit sideways at the next station to let the people alight. I gaped at her impossibly long - and obviously fake - eyelashes, dripping with badly applied eyeliner and mascara. Her face was streamlined, yet strangely masculine. There was the hint of an Adam's apple. Transvestite? I thought. A transvestite is a person who dresses like the opposite sex. My gaze travelled downwards. She definitely had a bosom. Then it struck me.

Transgender. And not just a transgender, but a man who had been surgically changed to a woman. She was the first of her kind I had seen, and it made a good change from the socially rejected ones you see begging on the street. I felt strangely proud of this woman who had chosen to be what she wanted - well, except the tobacco-chewing bit. It still was bad for her health.

India seems to be progressing, doesn't it?

Back To The Beginning

It's funny how you try to outdo yourself    how you attempt to surpass your own previous achievements to break away from the shackles of your past. And yet, at times, you find comfort that History does repeat itself, and quite boldly, (and visibly) at that.




No, I am not a demented personality who plays with maths (I love coding numbers, though), but I know it's been 344 days I've known people at St. Xavier's for. And surely enough, I have come to be a guy who know the secret *little chuckle* passages in some parts of the heritage construction. And my beginning was no different from the greenhorns that came in today for their first day in college.




We've (and 'we' is Sharvari Aai and I primarily) dubbed our juniors (there are only the 11thers who are our juniors and therefore, I don't have to mention which juniors), bacchas. Kids.




And in the true sense of the word, they are. I've been there, Sharvari's been there, too. We've looked at the gargoyles and wondered at how the building has been standing the test of time. I have clicked scores of pictures of college and in college. 




And I saw it happening once more. I saw the bacchas looking tiredly at the name-list put up on a huge board, squinting as they tried figuring where their names were. And then there was a girl clicking a picture of the college hall, of all places. And now I realise I've been there, done that too. And I've got scared of the crowd    in the trains while travelling, and in the foyer. (I used to walk around. If not for Terry, I might still be searching for a place to sit perhaps.) :P




I'd decided today, that I would surely spot a baccha and be of some help to them, or tell them about how screwed maths is, and how screwed you get if you choose to do maths. (We were told the same thing, it is just more of a formality than anything else) :P.




So, I saw a bevy of girls sitting next to the foyer-boards (for the record, you don't have to sit there. It's just too pitiable a sight if you do.) And the last of my suspicions were driven away when, seeing the foyer, a girl spoke to (apparently) her friend,"Okay, so now, this is freaky."




Love comes in strange packages though. Sometimes in the form of a wonderful friend. Sometimes in the garb of an 'evil' enemy. Sometimes in the talks of a troubled frenemy. 




And most importantly, sometimes, History sends you a living album of your past. You can't escape it, and guess what, you don't want to. :)

Friends Forever?

It's Friendship Day tomorrow. Meryl calls it Friendships Day. As do many others.

As badness would have it, I could not schedule to spend time with Shama, one of my besties tomorrow. But I am doing that soon. I am dating a Word Games sheet tomorrow for Malhar. And after that, we have an awesome rendezvous at Meryl's. And then, I have something else planned which I will write about some other day.

Friendship, like love, contrary to popular belief, doesn't necessarily come only once, doesn't necessarily never go. But it's true that it creates a pillar of strength. You know that when you stand, you don't stand alone. You know that all the time you spent over cold recess food dabbas, all the time you stood outside class taking punishment, all the time you fought, all the time you patched up, all the times you danced on one stage, all the times you cheered for one another, all the time you made groups fighting 'against' other groups, all the times you unite against trouble    

you learn you've grown up a bit. 

Happy Friendship Day! :)

Pearly Whites (Again)

I've got my pearly whites back! Yes, my braces are finally out. Apparently I look so different, my granny has already started planning my wedding. Moving on...

Well, you know, as they saying goes...I don't remember the proverb now, but it means that good and bad things go together. Or that everything good has a bad side. Or something like that. Anyway, I have retainers to replace my braces. Retainers (this is solely for Jai baba, other people can please read ahead) are removable plates that help 'retain' the newly-attained shape of your teeth. They're also a pain in the neck, because they have to be taken out and washed. If anyone dares say the word 'dentures', I will go as mad as a rampaging hippo. Retainers don't stay on while you're eating.

They also make saying 's' sounds difficult. I can't pronounce my own name anymore. Please do not dwell on this either. Believe me, I'm trying to make do with words that don't have an 's' in them - which largely restricts the use of plurals. Still, it's good language practice.

Overlooking the retainers, I can't stop baring my teeth in front of mirrors now. Ooh, shiny....

Pearly Whites

There was a girl who had pearly white teeth. And then, they remained white, but they just started growing like the texture of mortar on rough walls. And so, the dentist asked her to get herself a long and fat injection. 

The girl winced in anticipation of pain. The dentist was intelligent. He broke the syringe of the injection, took out the needle, smoothed its ends, bent it well, and put it across the two rows of teeth. They called them braces. I still call them braces too, I swear.

Sharvari Aai is one of those persons who got herself braces. Without braces, people don't seem to have come from heaven or hell or from the date-palm tree that is right in between the sky and the earth. Well, I don't blame you if you think I am speaking (err, writing) crap. I've been taught that crap can be recycled to make way for Noddy better ways of environmental consciousness. 

And Manali Phatak, another friend, had also got rid of her braces last year, and I did not notice, and she shot a very bad look at me. I was made to feel guilty. Bad. Not goos.

Well, all the best to the rows of teeth that begin living life without limits. Sorry, the stupid pun, if it counts as one, was unintended. I have to go.

My teeth are crooked too. And someone told me some dentists are really cute. :P

Coincidences...Really?

While I must admit that my blogging has become less frequent these days, I am still a part of many interesting things that happen. Yesterday, a very interesting thing happened to me. Well, I've realised that perhaps some things are just meant to be the way they are. :D


Well, if you don't think so, tell me, how often do you realise that you are, in some way, related to someone you met months ago, that too for a day   you know their first name, and how they look, but nothing else?


That is what happened to me yesterday. I met a friend I recently befriended. And turns out we had around three common friends. And *surprise surprise* a common stranger-friend (friend to him, stranger-friend to me). Once, I met this guy near Kanjurmarg station and we shared an auto to IIT-Powai. We walked all the distance from one gate to the next, and he told me his first name and where he basically was from. Then, we never met each other as he was a student and had to pass through a regular gate, while I had to pass through a visitors' gate. And I couldn't even thank him for having led the way. I'd otherwise be lost. :P (Quite frankly, true, since I've found myself at sea near various 'circles' in various places, even in my hometown, Dombivli).


And many times after that day, I have wanted to thank that person, but all in vain, since I did not even know his last name lest Facebook should be of help.


And yesterday I realise that that nice stranger is friend to one of my friends. (My friend mentioned the guy's first name and said he was from IIT-Powai and in the second year. I know it could be some other person, but it takes very little to make me believe that some things, however stupid they may sound, are possible). I can do what flitted past many times through my subconscious. I can finally thank that person. :)


The question is, how much cooler does Fate have to show itself as, so as to make people believe in It? :P