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

A Good Place

There are good places, and there are bad places. They can be anywhere. They can be houses, parks, roads and buildings. Nothing good ever seems to happen in the bad places - they are full of negative vibes, like an accident-prone area. The good places don't actually make you feel good, or fulfilled, or anything of that sort. They help you deal with life's problems, come to terms with yourself, or just leave you with a full head and a smile. You may chance upon them, or they may invite you in. But once you go, you can't help doing so over and over.

I went to a good place today.

It's called Sky Café. It's the neglected, forlorn restaurant opposite Sterling Cinemas that no one seems to want to visit. In one of my spontaneous moments, I asked a friend if we could 'check out' the food. It was raining cats and dogs, it was four in the afternoon and I was going to miss my 4.16 Thane train. But I didn't care.

In the one and a half hour I spent with my friend there (unlimited coffee for ₹55), I confronted feelings I had been repressing for the past month - the bottled-up emotions that had led to my recent illness. My friend is the type of person you can have heart-to-heart conversations with. Her, along with the soft golden light, the white umbrellas and the sweetly polite staff made my day. I felt like I was going to burst into tears when I got out of there. I had just explored all my unexpressed emotions.

I will go there over and over. Because, it is a good place. A place for the spirit. A place where you don't need chicken soup to heal your soul.

That Thought Whereby Jai *Lives*

You may imagine where I come from (and those of you who don't, are deemed beastly henceforth). I come from a land where cakes go burnt, and where your co-bloggers tell you they don't have time to blog, and that you must blog 'NOW'. *smiley-face* (I don't have to be pushed to write always, do I.)


And so, I have read in the newspapers been told that the First Year Junior College admissions are just happening any moment. That means we get to see what we saw last year, only from a newer, senior perspective. Anyway, so, all this while (not all this while, but some while, yes) I have been thinking, I am not getting a boyfriend. And so, I need to do something. And do something could include make-believe stuff.


And that was, has been and is, till today. What I have made myself believe now, though, is that there could be a Prince Charming in the coming-up FYJC batch. What, he can be younger, okay? That is one of the many thoughts whereby I live.


Anyway, Sharvari hugged me thrice on the same day, and I just made my own Great Book of Google Searches Among Other To-Do Lists.


The best part, Sparrowhi realised I am a freak too. Earlier, she used to tell that Sharvari was a freak, to me, and now she says they are all surrounded by two freaks. I wonder how fat we both will have to get for that.  Ciao! :)

After The Dormancy, Comes The Activity!

Just as I was entering my password into the box that read 'password', I was worried. I wondered, just for a second, if Sharvari Aai had deleted me from the admin-cum-co-author list. Thankfully, she hasn't, till now.


BTW. The best news in the otherwise dormant (I see I have many dormant things in life, including life itself) season, is that Malhar's coming. Named after the Indian musical scale Malhar, that is seen by musicians and connoisseurs as a harbinger of the rains, Malhar is a big college festival, second only to Mood Indigo, IIT-Powai's festival. It's filled with cool stuff that we unfortunately missed last year because of the botched-up pace of admission to colleges. 


So, the fact is, Malhar is bringing that tingling joy of being able to put together something on a public platter, irrespective of the fact that you may not be able to put a proper cake on your own platter.


Oh, and I forget to tell people that the college canteen has introduced blueberry muffin on its menu, and it tastes like heaven. Umm, they also introduced (not the college canteen   this time the management) a teacher for Psychology, and pleasantly so, she teaches damn well, if you can pardon (and should rightly do so,) her expertly jumping acts on the podium. No, but she is awesome. She does activities. And she knows my name and didn't mispronounce it the first time she pronounced it. THAT makes her awesome.


And anyway, I don't think you can get everything good on your plate. If you do, you are either too lazy or you are too lazy. You can't have your cake and eat it too.


Yikes! What's with cakes and me today? :EI

What's this nonsense?

Life is crazy, really. Especially if you're a teenager and an Indian citizen. If you've read the Da Vinci Code and the Lost Symbol, you'd know people are saying that this is an age of transformation and revolution. Hey, I know we're lucky bitches to be born when we are, because if we weren't, we wouldn't be us. Like if I was born a year earlier, I may have been a great dancer, but not a writer.

When our grandparents were children, the country was being roused similarly, but to fight against outside forces. The country was one, and not many people were criticizing our efforts - except the British themselves, of course. They called it the Indian Freedom Struggle. And today, the country supposed 'leaders' are mocking that revolution. I'm not talking about the politicians - they're crap and everyone knows that - but about the 'for the people' people.

Yeah, about the fiasco on Ramlila and the deal with Anna. A friend of mine talks about this on her blog. Democracy, they say, is the best form of government. Is it? A dictator might clean this up quicker than Satyagraha. Gandhiji gave us a tool, so let's use it. Let's all go on hunger strikes. But dude, Gandhi used it in a different atmosphere, a different setting. And the best part, he was doing the right thing.

Whether the Lokpal bill comes into play is not material. We all know that in India, people enter politics when they have nothing else to do. It's a quick money maker. The media, the government, the public - isn't everyone blowing this out of proportion? Calm down and talk about it! Did no one teach you that? There's only one thing that comes to mind reading the newspaper every day:

What's this nonsense?

Circus

I used to like circuses. When I was a kid, I'd been to this circus tent (I think it was the Gemini Circus troupe) and I had loved the show. I remember a girl feeding meat to a dinosaur. And my dad thinks I'm lying because he says back then, I did not know the difference between a camel and a dinosaur.


I tell him that I knew the difference between meat and grass though. Camels are vegetarians, aren't they? Or are they? :O


Anyway, so, the circus I am speaking about is what has been adorning (that's called irony :P) the newspaper front-pages these days. A man, dressed in orange and hair. Ew.


So, having opinions is a great thing. Voicing them is not going to help keep the baba prancing around on Ramlila ground and obviously not going to help drive him away.


:O The sinner that I am! How could I dare to promote apathy?


It's not called apathy.


If we can actually see animals getting flogged by the ring-master at circuses, we could very well draw a parallel and let the holier-than-not-just-thou-but-every-flexible-thing-in-the-world-and-yeah-I-can-bend-like-paperclips-can't guy handle the show   entertain us.


And God, that guy's really flexible. Like Sharvari. :P

Shrink Training

I feel awesome because for once I'm not blogging from my ghisa-pita home PC or my mom's same old laptop. No, I'm in Pune and I have Internet access here. So, I need not rely on Jai baba to bore the life out of you. I can do it myself.

I have been giving free advice to my friends (when they ask for it, I'm not narcissistic enough to do it otherwise). Advice that works. Jai baba would call it 'shrink training'. I took the privilege of calling it that already. I'm gonna be a good shrink.

Pune's great. It rained a lot on the Expressway. It was the first time that I ever saw lightning actually split the sky in two. Our cab had some technical difficulties but we got where we wanted to safe and sound, owing to my generous luck drawer.

I'm trying to be witty these days. I can't manage it right now because I haven't had enough sleep. Like most things I try, this too works. I stupefied a friend of mine, though I shouldn't consider it an achievement since anyone with a brain can stupefy her.

I'm going to go now. Ta-ta! Have fun with Jai baba.

Pitter-Patter Raindrops

I hear thunder, I hear thunder,
Oh! Don't you? Oh, don't you?
Pitter-patter raindrops, pitter-patter raindrops
I'm wet through, so are you.

Are you?

I was. I was blogging about bromance in the evening (what an utterly interesting topic to post about) when my sister who'd returned from school started acting weirdly and started telling me that it rained. I told myself she surely was a fool to have thought that a few drops of drizzling water from the heavens above could actually be rain.

And then, I turned back.

The tree in front of my house was waving ominously. I could see waves of soil as the wind blew them in layers.

Chuck all that. I wouldn't go into the specifics. The jingle I mentioned above I guess that is an essential part of almost everyone who has been through Kindergarten. And as a younger kid than I am today (I still AM a kid) monsoons, to me, as I hope, to any other Indian kid, meant long raincoats; rain-soaked uniforms; umbrellas.

And today, after I don't know how many years, it's perhaps assumed a more important role in life. It's that lifeline we all live by. And it is also a devastating factor when paired with another lifeline that we live by our Indian Suburban Railways. It's come to mean eating bhajiyas at home and looking out of the window as the rain lashes everything it comes in contact with. And lastly, and most importantly, it has come to mean everything that nurtures, everything that gives birth it's come to mean everything that holds love in it, everything that love holds in itself.

To love,

To craving,

And to the unquenchable thirst to love and be loved,

A happy monsoon, to whomsoever it matters! :)

Of Beer And Bromance

“Even in a drought, a bro flushes the toilet twice.”

-         Barney Stinson.

And I thought all gays hated bromance! Barney Stinson’s straight, but Neil Patrick Harris is gay! (I am at my stereotypical best right now.)

Nothing in the world turns my stomach like bromance does. I swear.

India has had a long tradition of bromance. Fathers decide to speak to their sons about the birds and the bees. Girls are kept in the dark, well, because, umm, I don’t know. Right from Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra trying to assert that they won’t let go of their 'really awesome' friendship in Sholay, to today, when there are some defined styles of behaviour in public—in shaking hands and giving those ‘friendly punches’—not much has really changed.

I would say it has got worse. I mean, there’s this mobile service provider ad where guys share underwear. Beat that. *Pukes*

And not to mention the wife-sharing Pandavas.

Dexter and Miguel.

Barney, Ted and Marshall.

But what takes me by surprise the most, is the fact that most men (Yeah, I am not included because I am still a boy! *angryface*) are able to convey what they want to without actually referring to any of it in a serious manner.

I think I better applaud that. J

C.I.D.

Man, that show has been running for a long time. Thirteen years, to be precise: from 1998 to the present day. Sony TV has made a huge profit, so much so that they can't seem to stop airing it. Whenever you switch to Sony between 14.00 and 18.00 hours, it's always C.I.D. Fulltoo timepass.

C.I.D. is no stranger to awards. In 2004, it entered the Guinness Book of World Records for their episode "The Inheritance", which was filmed in one shot for 111 minutes without a single cut. One of their characters won the award for the best-looking guy on Indian television (crazy, right?). They also organised a grand function called the C.I.D. Gallantry Awards in 2010.

There is a certain fun in watching that serial. Like most Indian media, it's a 'leave-your-brains-at-home' thing. For how could seven officers investigate every case in Mumbai? Or how did they justify finding a laash in every episode, or never investigating anything apart from murders and kidnappings? Kuch to gadbad hai.

Inspite of all its faults, C.I.D. is a noteworthy attempt by director B.P. Singh, who has cleared both national and international records. And if you haven't watched it yet, there's no doubt you have never been in the vicinity of a television set.

Crossroads At Crossword

I always called Crossword 'Crosswords'. 


What? There's absolutely nothing wrong in doing so, because a crossword could have a plural. My only problem was that I did that when I referred to the bookstore Crossword.


And so, Sharvari aai called me over to Mulund to browse through books and whatever they sold there. They sell, predominantly, books. Goos books. So. I texted Shruti and Maddie:

Going to Crossword's' tomorrow. 

With Sharvari. 

Coming?

But they had 'other plans' and so I was to accompany Sharvari to Nirmal Lifestyle, which is a bitter-sweet venue for reasons unfathomable and reasons indescribable. And unnecessary *wide-mouthed grin*

So. I realise I am 'so-'ing a lot, but that's forgivable. 

And I realised on my way to Mulund that I must have eaten something inedible (read: addled, and for those of you who don't know what it means, ask Thomas Edison. His teacher used to call him that.) and I felt like puking during the whole 'journey to the mall'.

It goes without saying, that the mall had a men's room. And the rest, you have understood, I hope.

And then, I went to Crosswords where Sharvari stood with my wallet and phone in hand. *Phew, she had it* How could I live without texting.

And then, I was confounded as to what to get for myself. I had a strict budget. And I am very indecisive. You can ask Sharvari. She just made a decision for me. And today, aai helped me with my budget, and I got a book on Psychoanalysis! *Yay*. Yes. We are both Psycho-freaks. Not psychotic! :O

So. Then we went to McDonald's to eat ice-cream and Sharvari aai wanted waffles. He did not have 'vafls'. We then had a regular ice-cream 'softy' and coloured our faces with chocolate sauce and oh, also our hands. And we left for the railway station.

Not to beg.

And oh. I don't remember where my ill-health went off, or when. :)

Choices

Inky Pinky Ponky.
Daddy Had A Donkey.
Donkey Died, Daddy Cried,
Inky Pinky Ponky.


Sheetal is a good friend and classmate of mine. We were talking the other day at our maths tuitions about an exam called NATA. She apparently has to do physics and chemistry for the exam, which obviously *phew* is not on the humanities' to-do list. *phew again*


So, Aabha, classmate and friend, said they'll select their answer by choosing a random alternative from the four given.


Not too random, though. 


Inky-pinky-ponkeying will do just fine.


What?! #1 - I'd do the same thing, okay? 


And so, moving on to worse decisions, Sharvari aai made a decision for me today (or so she says). Well, I think she suggested; only I took it too seriously. 


What?! #2 - You can obey your friend, okay?

We're Birds Of A Feather -_____-

To my dear co-blogger and everyone who is reading this now.

I love Star World. 

And, FYI, I love Animé.

My favourite cartoon, to date, is not Powerpuff Girls. 

Feels goos* to pull the carpet from under Sharvari aai's feet.

My all-time-favourite cartoon has been The Cardcaptors (the Sakura thingy). 

As you might know already, I am NOT averse to fantasy. Make that ALL fantasy.
:)

It was is, like, the bestest cartoon ever. 

I went so mad for it that after it got over, I actually started thinking I could capture and use natural elements to 'everyone's' benefit. 

And yeah, I'd cried when Sakura captures the last card, Hope.

So. 

I think Animax could challenge Star World too.

Aai, we are birds of a feather.

(NOTE - *'goos' is equivalent to 'good and comfy' and is a result of constant misspelling on the keyboard and the keypad while typing and texting respectively.)

If you found that note a bit too formal, go, chill, watch some animé, because it's goos.

Cartoons

I've been addicted to cartoons for some time now. Not Powerpuff Girls or Ben10 - though Tom & Jerry is still hilarious - but anime cartoons that they play on Animax. My favourites include Busou Renkin and The Stigma of the Wind. They're in Japanese or Korean, but they have English subtitles, and as you know, I'm not averse to reading.

Why, you ask? Apart from the fact that I have nothing to do in the holidays and hence have no choice but to watch crap, Anime has every fantasy element I love. Magic, martial arts and weaponry, all so tastefully done that the plot seems to dissolve from one end to the other. Star World is no match for Animax. Yes, Jai, I just said that.

When you say cartoons, I remember my vehement defense against my brother as he tried to wean me off Cartoon Network a few years ago. I found 'adult TV' boring. For all I knew of it was that it aired saas-bahu quarrels and songs. Yes, I was a kid once.

But for now, Animax keeps me alive. Hail cartoons!

No, hail Anime cartoons!

Cleanin' Up After You're Done!

I realised I could be forgetful at times, horribly forgetful, at that. I came to WeirdnessGalore twice today, now, and I was listless at what exactly to write, because I loathe not blogging. And then, *poof!* I realise I have a piece I had thought about writing yesterday. And that is about the awesome, butt-back-limbs-whatever-exercising job I did yesterday. 


The Kurl-On mattress is getting a bit old, and we're getting a new one next month; so I thought we better keep what we have in a good condition, and so, I decided to turn the mattress over. AND to my horror, there was a lot (read hellalot) of dust accumulated deep, deep (Alterspeak- Deep down what now? Nothingness? :s ) uh, just deep, or behind. Whatever. So, I took all the linens and furniture (most of it) to the hall and let them be there for until when I get my room to how an INFJ's room is supposed to be    spic-and-span. And so, I pulled the heavy wooden bed (Alterspeak- Sadly, for you, beds don't come in plastic. :L) to the centre of the room and got all the dust under it into my vacuum-cleaner.


No, I can sweep too. But the dust was fluffier than my broom could ever get. And no, my brooms don't get fluffy. And then, I brought a bucket to the room mopped the floor clean (the good ol' way) and re-arranged. 


And lo! Oh freak! My room looks the same as before. :O


But just, just to satisfy myself, I might as well bend down a little and look at the nice empty space *ahem* deep down under the bed I've made.


And Sharvari did not help me. But it was fun. 

The Two Things I Love the Most in the World

The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. Both very aptly represented in this picture I clicked at Talegaon. A plumeria flower on a copy of Brisingr, written by my favourite fantasy author, Christopher Paolini.

Christopher lives in Paradise Valley, Montana, USA. When you look at the mind-blowing, breathtaking scenery in pictures of that place, you realise and understand why he could create a world in which mountains loom over the clouds, where the towns are full of boisterious humans, and where a dragon spreads her wings as far as she can in the mighty blue sky.

I agree this post is going away from what it was supposed to be about, but once I start talking about Christopher, I can't stop. His story is what has inspired me to get going in the last few weeks, mostly because I find similarities in us. He was homeschooled and graduated from high school (correspondence) by the age of fifteen. He took two years to write Eragon, after which his parents decided to publish it through their company. Paolini International LLC was a small business, and Christopher had to market the book himself. It was hard work, and his efforts at selling the book meant putting food on the table. Then a writer picked up Eragon at a bookstore and showed it to his publisher, who decided to buy the rights from Christopher. From then on, it was all uphill. At nineteen, Christopher was a New York Times bestselling author.

I want to be like that.

I want to be as much a 'nature writer' - as he calls it - as a fantasy writer. And that is what my story is about. The power of Nature around us, within us. The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. What better to do than fuse them together and have a career in it.

I want to be like that.