reflections

Whee

2012-01-15T15:51:00.001Z

I can't believe I've been in London for four whole months! It feels like time has just flown by, and at the same time it feels like I've always lived here and my past life is just a blurry recollection. It's like there's a screen dividing my life into a before-London and since-London phase. I feel like I've changed so much and yet I'm still who I was. I'm always surprised at how easy it's been for me to adjust to a new place, a new country, a new life. The day I came here, the day I first stepped into my room, the day I first stepped into uni, I knew it was going to be great. A part of me was afraid that these first days would be disappointing, things could be worse than I expected, and I knew that my heart would sink but I would still do my best to make the most of it.

But I'm rather glad that instead of sinking, my heart just raced and my mind couldn't stop repeating the word "perfect" over and over. It still hasn't. There have been good days and bad, and last week was a bit crappy overall, but through all of the experiences and goof ups I've only been thankful for how much I've learned and received. The people whose paths have crossed mine, even if briefly, have all inspired me and changed me in ways that I probably haven't even realised.

I've always wanted this and and I'm so, so lucky to be finally living it.

Singapore 2011

One Year

2011-12-31T21:13:00.005Z

Planning a future
ups and downs
precarious apprehension, baby steps
and a dream.

Splashes of color
night time wanderings on the last bus
running free, tiffs and smiles
an hour at an airport
and a book.

I have no regrets, no hate
since the day my tears changed into laughter
while reading our messages
we had some good times
and time can't take those away.
I'll probably spend my whole life
wondering why
but then maybe it was me
maybe I did something wrong
or maybe he was just meant to be
a chapter in my story
and I in his.

A new world
of neon cyclists and cobbled streets
and lampposts and freedom
precarious apprehension, surer steps
and a dream came true.

My friend, she wrote me a letter
that brought a smile to my face
and I read and re-read
live stories, she said
and try something new each day.

I took a train down to
a sleepy little town
I took myself to a concert
and sat there in a daze
sometimes it just takes
a familiar song in a shop
to make my heart sing
and I dance.

I'm alone but not lonely
solitude can be sweet
sometimes all I need are pyjamas
and tea.

Then there were nights when
we laughed and skipped
and ran across roads
though we couldn't see
the green man
and took buses glistening with rain drops
and streets shone.

If you met me at a station
and asked me where I was from,
I'd furrow my face and say,
"Well, I'm here."
And with that, I leave you,
readers and friends,
Oh it's been one hell of a year!

Thanks for the memories.

Holiday Season

2011-12-23T22:44:00.000Z

= essay time.

I finally hit the library issue limit.
That's all.

An Evening of Strauss and Mozart

2011-11-29T02:43:00.005Z

A chilly breeze ruffled through our hair as we walked down to King's Cross, more dressed up than usual, boots included. There was laughter already, and we knew it was going to be a good night. That was despite the tube's moodiness; it decided to stop for a break and jerk for about 20 minutes. We hurried on from Waterloo station, a bit lost, with no time to admire the gorgeous sapphire-ness of the London Eye that night. The Hall soon came into view, and we raced up the steps, fifteen minutes late. Panted at the ticket desk, only to be sent to opposite ends of the hall to sit amongst strangers. Which isn't so bad when you're really there to be captivated by the show. I felt a bit like a defaulter, forced to stand outside during Don Juan, with a few others including a young couple that seemed shy yet happy, probably on a first date. The doors then opened themselves to me, plush red carpet and all. Rows and rows of seats, in front of the stage, behind the stage, a balcony, and boxes up high for those who could afford them. Black lace and tailcoats. Violins and cellos and drums and cymbals and flutes and clarinets and horns and trombones. A soprano and her silver skirt melting to the floor. The dance of the violin bows. The orchestrated coughs every time the music stopped. A bouquet of red roses and one for the first violinist. A girl and a boy leaning contentedly against each other, entranced. Music in my veins. Applause. Applause. Applause.

Some meetings with friends. Some wandering under aisles of trees adorned with blue lights. And a big blue Christmas bauble.

It was a magical evening.

www.philharmonia.co.uk

The Journey from Platform 11

2011-11-08T21:15:00.008Z

I have so much to tell you from the past few weeks. About

swans and concerts and old friends
and an exhibition in a crypt
and my favorite author's script
and Halloween and dead ends

But these are stories for another day.

This is a tale about the first of my travels in a new land - hopefully the first of many more to come. So there I was, hurrying along to King's Cross on a windy Saturday afternoon with Shobhana (our destinations were different though). An open return ticket later, we checked the board for the next outbound train, and raced along to platform 11 with minutes to spare. There was no running through barriers here, and the train itself looked rather ordinary if more colorful than the Indian ones. After triple checking to make sure that it was indeed a train to Cambridge, we said our goodbyes and I settled myself in a seat across from a nice young woman. (Yes, I'm aware that made me sound about 45.) We were soon joined by an elderly man wearing a weird sort of jacket. Seemed the talkative type. He was. Every few minutes he would start telling a story, mostly talking to the nice young woman who happened to be sitting next to him, reading (because I refused to catch his eye) and after each anecdote he would tell her to "anyway, enjoy your book" before starting all over again. For 45 whole minutes. I read my book and ate my unhealthy McDonald's burger and stared out the window at the pretty fields, and she eventually gave up trying to read and even laughed at his jokes. I thought maybe she didn't mind him much, but when we got out she said "don't listen to that old man, Cambridge is actually quite nice". A good start, I should think.

Cambridge was nice. I saw, accompanied by Harsh (or rather, following with my suitcase and camera), churches from the outside and inside, many of the colleges, bridges and canoes, and a man playing the guitar from inside a trash can on my way from the station to the destination.

He was good too.

It was Guy Fawkes night and most of Cambridge was supposedly at Jesus Greens for the fireworks and fair. But Moyna and I were too busy tucking into a huge dinner (roast chicken with chips and onion rings and salad for me, lasagna for her with other things that I didn't notice because I was too busy with my plate) at a quiet pub thanks to her discount-card-procuring superpowers. We actually thought we'd make it in time for the fireworks, but the long train of people coming back was a clue. Nonetheless we tarried on despite the cold and the damp, in hopes of toasting ourselves near the big bonfire. But it was not to be. The bonfire was big alright, but onlookers were fenced out about 50 feet from it because, I suppose, they might catch fire and then what would they do. Oh and there were crazy rides and food, none of which we partook of, being rather full. We did wander around in quaint streets, stepped into the Maypole (the busiest pub in the area) and passed the Eagle, the pub where DNA was "discovered", culminating with a stop at Sainsbury's for cookies to go with the hot chocolate at home.

On Sunday, I wandered around a bit by myself, stared at the river and wound up outside the Round Church, the second oldest building in Cambridge. We also went to the Fitzwilliam Museum, where Harsh wouldn't let me look at Matisse's paintings because they were boring and he wanted to go in pursuit of a mummy named Hermione (we never found her but there were plenty of others to make up for it). That night there was another bonfire - accessible this time - and toasted marshmallows and sausages and mulled apple juice/wine and for some reason, sparklers.

The Round Church

Monday was a meticulous following of our "itinerary", before classes beckoned Moyna and London called me back. A long climb up the very narrow spiral staircase of the tower at the Great St. Mary's Church - passing the bell room and a room where someone was playing the piano - and all of Cambridge was before our eyes. A walk through the manicured lawns of Trinity college (there's a secret behind those lawns, aye. Apparently you only get to walk on the grass if you're a senior fellow. I really regret not trying it to find out what would happen.) - I was going to comment about its Hogwartsy-ness when a group of people in robes walked out and I got very distracted indeed. Then a quick stop at the university library which is huger than anything you can ever imagine - I honestly think being a member of staff there would be utterly depressing - and it was time to pick up my suitcase and walk to the station. The journey back was quite similar; same book, a Snickers bar and a girl from my own college this time. I just sat there in quiet happiness, and then I was home.

Trinity

I like calling London home. Even if all I have is a room. Sometimes, all one needs is a room of one's own.

PS - And here's a ginormous thank you to Moyna and Harsh for taking out huge chunks of time to show me around and for generally putting up with me and my camera. You rock.
PPS - Look out for more (and better!) photos on the photoblog :)

Of Food

2011-10-23T02:10:00.009+01:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I don't really cook. Indeed, this was the main cause of anxiety for family and friends alike when they learned that I would soon be off to foreign shores and my only means of survival would be my own cooking. Of course, that isn't really true. London has excessive variety when it comes to any kind of cuisine, with bakeries, bistros, cafes, vendors, restaurants, fast food chains and ice cream and yogurt parlours galore. But when you're a poor student, an Atlas ever conscious of the loan on your shoulders, you can't really afford to buy every meal. So you go grocery shopping, basket and all, and take each day as it comes, hoping you haven't run out of salt only to discover it when the potatoes are burning themselves on the ~~gas~~ hot-plate-thing.

The hot-plate-thing is one of the really annoying/ridiculous/impractical/irritating things about this place. The other being the bathrooms, but don't even get me started. What is the point of having a separate hot and cold water tap at each end of the basin, really? What the hell do you do with them? Open both and take turns to freeze or burn your hands? Not that they stay open - they're smart-taps, except not really, because if they were really smart they'd shoot water when they sensed your hands but these ones require a hearty push, which suffices as my daily exercise. They also stop spouting water of their own accord, which would be cool except it isn't when your hands are all soapy and you haven't friggin' finished washing up.

But I digress.

So the first time I cooked (cooking here defined as anything that requires heat and changes color/shape/texture/taste after being exposed to it), I was just attempting to fry an egg for breakfast. So there I was, having put oil in the frying pan and broken the egg into it, and nothing happened. The egg just sat there gloppily in a pool of oil, while I stared at it, losing weight and wondering whether I'd done something wrong. After many many long minutes of coagulation, it finally began to make weird but welcome sizzly noises, and I set about making toasts. The world was sunny again. Which is really rare in London.

First forlorn egg

Since then, I've got used to the burner tantrums, and I just circumvent them by studiously ignoring it while it heats up angrily, giving it my undivided attention when I know it's going to be submissive. Mostly I cook simple things like vegetables, omelettes (my flatmates think I only cook eggs, which is a bit unfair because I don't even cook them every day, but somehow always happen to be when they're around. It's a conspiracy.), cheese toast thingies, and I managed to find paneer which was a moment of triumph, really. The microwave is my best friend, for everything from tea to heating up the canned chicken-in-white-sauce, to 'cooking' buttered veggies and biryani (read: dumping a bunch of ingredients into a microwave dish and letting it do its thing). Not half bad.

Biryani

Chicken and cheese toasts

I'm not a huge fan of sandwiches here but uni does have some nice pasta and Cornish pasties and samosas (though they're really quite different) and cake. I also had the most delish falafel wrap which I'd planned on making a weekly ritual but I now realise that didn't happen. I'm on it. I also tried some free cheese at the Bloomsbury Farmers' Market. I never want to have cheese again. We also had a flatmates' dinner comprising of frozen pizzas and a big salad. As in we bought them frozen and baked them. But you knew that already.

My cereal is still Chocos that come all the way from India (I brought some with me and bullied a friend into bringing more. They're nearly over now as is life as I know it.) and I'm almost out of junk food. Maybe I'll buy some of the weird looking onion bhajis and samosas (whatever that is) from Tesco. I already tried their 'pilao' rice and chicken tikka masala (heh) without dire consequences. But why do you care?

Overview

2011-10-04T01:16:00.003+01:00

Picnics, walks, markets, Platform 9 and 3/4, orientations, meetings, receptions, coffee, new friends, old friends, sunshine, fritters, sausage bagels, food crises, bucket hunts, Tower Bridge, a boat cruise for postgraduates, a sparkling Thames, new friends, poetry, midnight chats, autumn leaves, elegant women puffing cigars, architecture, music, drums, people in love, crossroads, giant escalators, double deckers, fayres, washing dishes, waffles, intimate parties with cake and quiche and barbecues, new friends, lectures, lecturers, movies, new friends, heavenly libraries, READING LISTS. Goodbye.

Namaste (from) London!

2011-09-24T15:32:00.013+01:00

It's a bit overwhelming. To be in a different place, amongst different people, in a different time zone, in a different room. To be living out of suitcases, to be worrying because your kitchen doesn't have a microwave, to be buying groceries that can be used only for 3 days and trying to gobble them down so you don't waste them, to be walking around streets looking for a duvet. It makes you realise how much you take for granted. It's a great feeling.

So in the 40-ish hours that this adventure began, I've managed to overturn my trolley with it's overweight suitcases (stupid carpet), run through the airport like crazy so I wouldn't miss my flight, watched an inflight movie that I'd been dying to watch, watched the gentleman next to me being put on an oxygen mask because he drank too much, had two pillowless nights (NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A PILLOW), jammed a telephone with a 50p coin, lugged suitcases all over the place, sneakily procured a nice chair, done a fair amount of shopping (some of which involved talking to a machine. Efficient, cool, and kind of creepy.), made very awful food, and met two wonderful flatmates.

I feel rather gown up. I think I'm going to enjoy this.

Here are pictures of my room and kitchen for those who care. Ignore the mess.

I'm now going to find something to eat. Later!

Gap Year-and-a-quarter

2011-09-19T17:19:00.008+01:00

Is almost coming to a close.

And what a year it's been. It's funny, because I'd never really planned it out, I'd never really decided what I wanted to do in this year. I just wanted room to breathe, and I didn't want to box myself up into one thing. This was my year to explore. I had a lot of ideas, obviously, and lists that grew ever longer, but today when I looked at those lists again I realised that I'd come quite close to striking everything off. What a feeling.

After taking my uni finals last year, I had a series of disappointments that threatened to become a trend, but once I decided to stop sitting around moping, things looked up. Two weeks into the holidays, I was helping coordinate a wonderful festival as a volunteer.

The volunteering went on off and on - more on than off - until September, when I was offered a two month internship that went on for seven. Throw in an opportunity to work with a professional film crew for 3 days at a five star hotel, and let's just say the cheques maintained a steady flow. Not a windfall, but more than enough to finally buy the dream camera, and have some left over.

And I was still learning. A six week fiction writing course taught me that I could, in fact, write fiction. And a six month course on art appreciation opened a whole new area of interest, not to mention the company of a best friend and oh, all the pakoras and tea. Good times.

Throw in the mix five short and medium trips, and that's travel covered. Well, not half as much as I'd liked to have but with all this other stuff, can you blame me? Excuse me while I pat myself on the back.

And lastly but not leastly, I managed to find a goal in the year of not-quite-limbo. A short term-ish one, since I've realised long term doesn't really work for me too well. In three days I'll be off to new adventure. And yes, that sounds way more dramatic than it actually is. But considering that it's an unfulfilled dream, and one that I never really thought would work out because of all the hiccups along the way, I'd say it's pretty damn good and to hell with the consequences. For now.

I'm not deliriously excited yet. But I will be.

PS - Everyone should take gap years. Okay? Okay.

xoxo, Delhi Girl

2011-09-14T18:54:00.004+01:00

Have y'all read the Open Letter that's been doing the rounds of late? I would be helpful and link you to it, but I don't want to. You should find it in some corner of Facebook or Twitter if you try hard enough. If you're not on Facebook or Twitter, never mind.

I'm actually quite surprised it's been getting all this attention. It was shared, reblogged, and some Delhi Boys even wrote whole blog posts in reply. I thought it would be funny, at least. I've never had issues criticising Delhi or menfolk or Delhi's menfolk, so I assure you I went there with an open mind, only to have my hopes dashed and smashed and trod upon.

But then, I'm from LSR (we love them fake protests, because, you know, we're just too meek and cowed down to actually do the real thing), I've lived in South Delhi most of my life, and I'm scrawny, fair, and have straight hair, so what do I know. Must start reading Vogue while I sit around waiting for my impending marriage.

Life in Bokeh

2011-09-06T11:48:00.003+01:00

You know the first sunshine after a shower, the kind that peeps through the trees and clouds and makes the raindrops still clinging to everything shimmer? I saw it yesterday. On my way home from a lunch date with the girls, after a spell of being stranded under porticoes and taking refuge in bookshops, and sneaking into puddles and getting a little soaked. But the thing with seeing this kind of sunshine through the foliage when you're myopic is infinitely more beautiful. All you see is little glistening discs of golden and green. It's the same with night lights on a runway. A string of twinkling golden baubles. Life in bokeh, straight out of an out-of-focus photograph.

But when you're not looking at lights, it's another story. You see blobs and stripes of different colors, some that move and some that don't, all meshed together in a blur. You make out shapes but not details. You have the larger picture, but the details can make you or break you. Sometimes things happen so fast that it's all a blur. But this...this isn't even fast. It's been happening for a long time, inching ever nearer. There's nothing to be scared of, really, but scared you feel. Because you've warned yourself not to live a dream again, but without living it, you'll just be unprepared. Quite a sticky, tricky situation.

And sometimes it just feels like this couldn't be happening to you. Like you're aware of it but you can't quite believe it. Like you know where it's going - where you're going - but it feels like you're looking at it from above, or below, or a side. Like you're detached. It's all a blur but you're still moving.

That's what this feels like.

I like to think in the back seat. And realise how far I've come.

I just realised that I'm not freaked out by the rain anymore.

Once Upon a Time in India (A Fairy Story)

2011-08-17T06:44:00.003+01:00

Once upon a time in India, there was a disease. A disease that ate away from the inside, making everyone condemn it as dangerous and rotten. The people were very sad and very poor. They felt all the symptoms of their disease without knowing the cause. Was it a virus? Was it genetic? So far, it had only affected the leaders, but if it could affect the leaders, surely it would plague them sooner or later. Moreover, the expensive treatments being used were draining the public money. "Where does our money go?" they were quick to demand. It was very sad, very sad indeed.

Obviously, they needed a hero with superpowers to deliver them from this Evil. Nothing else could work. This hero soon came to them. In fact, I will go as far as to suggest that till he came, the people had not really even realised that anything was wrong at all. But he came, and their eyes were opened to this awful plight.

This hero was - what shall I say? - remember the Pied Piper of Hamelin? This hero was a vision in white. He didn't eat so he was obviously very special. People thronged in rain and shine to see him not eat. After many months of not eating, he had the people eating out of his palm. They were ready to do anything for him if he would only eat again, for he was grown rather old and feeble. They offered to give him all their food, money, clothes of different colors, and pledged to follow him wherever he would go.

All the king's men (and women) promised a cure if they were only given some more time. But the people were having none of it. They wanted a cure and they wanted it now. They weren't very sure how the Piper would cure them, but they believed him because he said "I will cure you." And the Piper piped and they came out on the streets in large quantities to watch him not eat.

And then one day he took his magic wand and said "choo mantar" and the disease vanished and everyone lived happily ever after.

The Patronus Moment

2011-08-11T19:36:00.006+01:00

When I was feeling a little low a few nights ago, I tried to channel my thoughts in a positive direction by thinking of a memory that I could use if I needed to produce a Patronus at that minute (because I'm such a Potterhead). I ended up getting more depressed because, try as I might, I couldn't think of any.

Still haven't. I even asked the best friend for ideas, and though she pointed out some contenders, none felt right. I mean I'm not really a "sad" person, and I could think of tons of make-you-smile or even make-your-day moments, little things that mean so much but are often soon forgotten. I could also think of many moments that were happy or experiences that were generally very positive; but nothing that gave an undiluted sense of happiness of exhilaration. There was either anxiety or nervousness mixed with the happiness, or a bittersweet-nostalgic feeling. No on-top-of-the-world, I-did-it!, this-is-perfect, I-could-die-now, happiness that spills over, epic kind of moments. That doesn't seem right. Or am I looking at this the wrong way?

In the meantime, share some of your jump-for-joy, or as I now dub them, "Patronus" moments in the comments...it might trigger a memory or at least cheer me up!

Once Upon a Time

2011-08-06T12:48:00.003+01:00

Someday
I’ll walk into a gallery of monochrome
And I’ll know it’s you.
Castles in ruins, people in ruins
I’ll hate them and love them
Because it’s you.
And I’ll take three turns
Around the room
Acclimatize, taste, decide
I’ll leave behind an elegant name
I’ll leave with the frame
Tucked under my arm
And melt into the sunbeams
And you’ll never know
It was me.

Someday
I’ll wish upon a snowflake
And think of you
In my dreams
I’ll think of your hand in mine
And the way we were
In my dreams
And you knew me
Like I know you
In my dreams
And you saw the world
Through my eyes
You were happy again
In my dreams.

Someday
They’ll ask me
Who these lines are for
And I’ll say
They’re about someone
I used to know
Once upon a time.

Back to School

2011-08-04T15:57:00.012+01:00

Sometime last week, I found myself at the gates of a memory. I (or my car) had to wade through the sea of students that were pouring out of these same gates, dressed in the familiar uniforms like we once did. (Dispersal was probably the favorite time for any student, but it's not so fun after you've left school. I still have anguished dreams about the school dispersal, involving the 80 buses and me not being able to find mine/missing it/narrowly escaping being run over several times. I can sometimes even smell the stinky nala in the dream. Hmph.)

Walking through these gates was such a special feeling, but going back to a place where you once belonged is always bittersweet. Because time never stands still, and you can't help feeling a bit like an outsider. The colors have changed there now. No more a warm, brick red. There are fences and grilles. But the same buildings stand, and many of the same teachers still roam the halls.

My reason for going back this time was for a video documentation of Udaan 2011, a prospect I jumped at because it seemed such a good opportunity. I used to volunteer with the awesome Shiksha Kendra kids as a member of the Interact Club at school, and I found myself doing exactly that again, this time with a camera obscuring my face and my best friend by my side. We chatted with kids and teachers (and mostly with each other), and I couldn't help but notice that holding a giant camera seems to lend an intrigue to one's persona. With interesting results. We had the unique power of making the kids drop whatever they were doing to stare at us, visibly distracted, and at one point they actually ran out of their class to meet us and engulf us with requests. We were happy to oblige!

This kid demanded a pic and posed statuesque-ly; upon being informed that I was, in fact, taking a video, he burst into a rowdy dance with his mates. He then proceeded to follow me whenever he could sneak out of class. He was fun to talk to :)

This girl demanded a pic too but wouldn't smile, though upon seeing the photo she grinned like you wouldn't believe! Aww. It's like magic.

We also went to the football field (Nids: "aww, remember how we used to play football there?" Me: "I've never played football here." Nids: "Ohmygod you have such an awful memory.") and the hallowed library, our haven in the days when one library period a week JUST WASN'T ENOUGH. It looked even more full with books, and several more trophies, and devoid of students. The sir there allowed us to photograph to our heart's content and then we had a nice chat about the good ol' days.

But see the video I made later (with the wonderful clips that Nids took - we do make a great team). Feedback will be appreciated!

Hee

2011-08-02T17:04:00.003+01:00

(Click to enlarge!)

Happy Birthday...

2011-07-31T18:48:00.003+01:00

...Joanne and Harry!

On Tuesday, I intended to do a post about my journey with the Harry Potter books, because they deserve it. Actually, I wanted to do it before that, right before or after I watched the last movie. I probably never would've thought of it if I hadn't read this tribute post that made me teary. So, coming back to Tuesday, I thought I'd do it then because I happened to be watching the first movie on TV, which, by the way, is really really good and I think they should've let Chris Columbus direct the entire bunch. But it didn't work out, so I thought today would be a very cool occasion, although I just got distracted because I remembered that Pottermore was supposed to open to registrations today, and now I've been there and I'm too late. (Image: fanpop.com)

Yes, this post does have a point.

So, the first movie. Important, because that is where it all began for me. That is when the world of Harry Potter merged with my own. The first four books had been around for a good while until then, and created quite a furore, but true to my spirit of going against the tide, I refused to waste my time on books about fairies and magic wands. Yeah, that's what I thought this was about. Naive much?

I don't really know how or why I agreed to go for the movie at all, but what I do know is that it was a magical few hours, literally. I enjoyed it so much and me and bro couldn't wait to get hold of the books. The first two were procured without further delay from the school book fair, and the third and fourth borrowed and devoured within a few wonderful weeks. Ah, addiction.

The wait for the fifth was rather unbearable. We thought we'd be smart and pre-order a copy, being new to this whole process. Our copy came a week after everyone else bought theirs for a lesser price, and in that week I was cheerily told about Sirius' death by a friend over the phone. That trend was to continue into the next book, which, though I did get on time, I couldn't finish because sharing was involved and so before I knew it, I found myself at school where a classmate marched in and loudly announced Snape's and Dumbledore's fate in two fateful sentences (he has been duly punished, though), and then in the bus some stupid girls could not stop gossiping about Harry and Ginny. Having learned my lesson, I stayed up all night with the seventh and managed to avoid any such revelations. Whee.

These books have been an important part of my life, and I know not everyone will really get that. Everyone (who reads) has their own favorite books that they connect with and turn to for inspiration or answers or just to feel better and take their mind off other things. That's the thing about books, they're portkeys to a whole new world. I've had several of this kind: Enid Blytons, the Anne series, Cecelia Ahern, Jane Austen, and Harry Potter. The whole month leading up to my 10th board exams, I read the fifth book, over and over again. I especially loved reading the pensieve scene in which Harry sees his dad and his friends after their OWLs. I think James' and Sirius' nonchalance towards the whole examination drill really inspired me. I think it also might've worked some magic on my own results that year!

I've kept scrapbooks, bought keychains and 3D playing cards and the supplementary books, made spell lists in alphabetical order, started and abandoned an HP encyclopedia, tried to convert the books into poetry, tried to play the games, been through a fan art craze, started an HP blog, started an HP fan-fic, found parallels in philosophy class from race and religion to media ethics in these books, and even written two lengthy term papers on the series for my literature degree in college, which, I might add, is like the ultimate tribute.

People have been talking about the end of an era, but I don't think it ever will for those who really love them. That's another thing about books, isn't it? You never have to say goodbye. All you have to do is turn to the first page, and it's yours again. You're there.

Addiction

2011-07-25T19:38:00.003+01:00

Poladroid is SO MUCH FUN!!!! Watch out though, because the "ink" finishes after about ten "prints". How adorable. I went a bit nuts, and here's what my desktop temporarily looks like.

Oh what fun. Till I can buy me a real Polaroid camera.

8 Movies You Should Watch

2011-07-12T15:53:00.011+01:00

Pote tin Kyriaki / Never On Sunday (1960)
Dir/Writer: Jules Dassin
Starring: Melina Mercouri, Jules Dassin, Giorgos Foundas
Language: Greek, some English

It's black and white, it's funny and of a bygone era. Mercouri is a prostitute with a difference, and Dassin is the lost American who knows nothing about the Greek way of life and learns by accident. His character, named Homer Thrace (!) has come to Greece in the search of Truth, like that of Greek philosophers particularly Aristotle, and to understand why the glory of Greece culminated in its fall. He believes the mystery to the miseries of the present day lie in this. Ilya (Mercouri) can't stand Aristotle (hint: misogynist) and likes her life the way it is. The plot is a reworking of Breakfast at Tiffany's / My Fair Lady (I found elements of both) and touches upon very interesting questions, which to me makes it very valid in the present day. It's humorous and positive overall, and the cheery Greek bouzouki music will leave you feeling quite upbeat. Special note to English Hons. students: you'll love the motif of Greek tragedy woven here with a twist, especially Medea and Oedipus Rex. And I'm sure you'll discern some ideas from The Rover as well!

Trivia: Won an Oscar for best song ("Never on Sunday"). Melina Mercouri won Best Actress at Cannes. Mercouri and Dassin married in 1966.

2 Days in Paris (2007)
Dir/Writer: Julie Delpy
Starring: Julie Delpy, Adam Goldberg
Language: French, English

Rather hilarious as well, particularly due to the chemistry between the two characters, and the culture shock element (read: people jabbering in French while Goldberg looks clueless). Delpy has put a lot of herself into this movie, not only in terms of ideas and beliefs but also bits from her own childhood. It reminds one of Celine in Before Sunrise/Sunset especially with regard to lovers and partners - not getting caught up in someone else when you're in a relationship, and how being a strong-minded woman can be rather problematic on the relationship front. The film uses stereotypes (American, European/French etc) rather well to (a) denounce them (b) show that stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. It took me a really long time to figure out why Goldberg looked SO familiar till I realised he was Chandler's good old roomie, Eddie. Haa. I also like that it didn't depict Paris as the cliched and beautiful city we see in most movies, but showed it from an altogether different angle.

Trivia: Julie Delpy wrote, directed, produced, edited this movie and also composed the soundtrack! Sequel titled 2 Days in New York will be released this year. Her real father, Albert Delpy, plays her dad in the films. Nominated for a César for writing.

Die Leben der Anderen / The Lives of Others (2006)
Dir/Writer: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck
Starring: Ulrich Mühe, Martina Gedeck and Sebastian Koch
Language: German

This is one of my favorite films. I'm yet to watch it without crying. But don't let that put you off. This one isn't humorous, but it's a powerful story guaranteed to move you. Set in East Berlin, it deals with the monitoring of the private lives of several prominent artists, authors, actors etc. by the Stasi. It is centered on Stasi Captain Gerd Wiesler (Muehe) and his primary 'victims', playwright Georg Dreymann (Koch) and his actress girlfriend Christa-Maria Sieland (Gedeck). Powerful story and performances that will draw you into an important era in German history.

Trivia: Won Oscar for best foreign language film.

El Laberinto del Fauno / Pan's Labyrinth (2006)
Dir/Writer: Guillermo del Toro
Starring: Ivana Baquero, Ariadna Gil, Sergi López, Maribel Verdú
Language: Spanish

Set in 1944 after the Spanish Civil War, this movie might be considered similar (but in my opinion, definitely superior) to the Narnia movies. You're probably wondering how such a movie can have anything to do with fantasy, but that's where its genius lies. The film uses fairytale and the wonders of a child's imagination as a tool to bring to the fore more serious issues. Ofelia (Baquero) uses this parallel world as an escape from the horrors of her present, not to disappear into a dream but in desperation to find some way to change and save her reality, which constitutes an evil stepfather, Captain Vidal. Vidal is a fascist and has been assigned to eliminate anti-fascists, and is one of the most formidable characters I've seen in a while. An intense story of magic, treachery, and rebelliousness with many twists and turns.

Trivia: Del Toro got the idea of the faun from lucid dreaming during childhood. Del Toro himself performed all the noises. Won Oscars for best art direction, cinematography and make-up and several BAFTAs.

Goodbye Lenin! (2003)
Dir: Wolfgang Becker
Writers: Wolfgang Becker and Bernd Lichtenberg
Starring: Daniel Brühl, Katrin Saß and Chulpan Khamatova
Language: German

This film is set in East Berlin, and is a vivid portrayal of the effects of reunification through the journey of one family. Catherine (Katrin) is a staunch supporter of the ruling Socialist Party, but falls into a coma and misses the fall of the Berlin Wall. When she eventually comes out of it, her heart is still very weak and the doctor warns Alex (Bruehl), her son, and Ariadne, her daughter, that any slight shock or excitement could trigger a heart attack. Alex and Ariadne wonder how to conceal the major changes going on around them because these would definitely distress her, and what follows is a rather comic series of attempts. A very sensitive and emotional story of difficult choices and brings up the question of how wise it is or for how long you can keep up such a charade.

Trivia: Yann Tiersen (of Amelie fame) composed the soundtrack and it shares a piano composition with Amelie. Won a César for best film.

Jeux d'Enfants / Love Me if you Dare (2003)
Dir/Writer: Yann Samuell
Starring: Marion Cotillard, Guillaume Canet
Language: French

I really like this film though I know some would disagree. For me, its endearment lies in the fact that it is so different, and of all the romantic films I've seen (and I've seen a lot), I haven't come across any quite like this one. The literal translation of the French title is more like "child's play" which I think would have made a far better title. The gist of the story is a game of 'dare' that two kids start as entertainment but which eventually takes over their life. They can't stop "playing", well into their adulthood, and it becomes their bond but also their bane. I don't want to give away too much because that will spoil the experience, except that I think it literally is daring in the way in which it upturns morality and virtues but makes it difficult to judge because of its pursuit for friendship/love. It will leave you with lots of questions (and discussion potential!) which, I think, is a good thing for any film. The cinematography is really good and the film is just so stylish, the actors are wonderful (and nice to look at) and so is the music.

Trivia: The film uses several covers of the popular French song "La vie en Rose", including the well-known rendition by Edith Piaf. Marion Cotillard went on to portray Piaf in La Vie en Rose for which she became the first actress to win an Academy Award for a foreign language film. She was also cast in Inception, in which another of Piaf's songs plays a critical role. Cotillard and Canet are partners in real life and have a son.

Le battement d'ailes du papillon / Happenstance (2000)
Dir/Writer: Laurent Firode
Starring: Audrey Tautou, Faudel, Eric Savin
Language: French

A very interesting take on the Butterfly effect/chaos theory, NOTHING like the Hollywood film with Ashton Kutcher. This one has a number of very interesting characters with their own set of problems and spans one day. Events change with something as simple as the throwing of a pebble, and spark off others. For all that, it's easy enough to follow, without making it flat. Not award-winning material but some dialogues and scenes will really make you think. The ending is genius!

Once (2006)
Dir/Writer: John Carney
Starring: Glen Hansard, Markéta Irglová
Language: English, Czech

Charming is the word to describe this one. Set in Dublin, it's a very real look at struggling musicians and how difficult it can be to get discovered. Again a very simple, easy to follow story which is still very real, and though the plot has some holes you are likely to wave them away because it captures so much else. The music is very relaxing and beautiful, and even has some Irish folk songs. This one is about simple joys that another's company can give and how, sometimes, that is all you need to get you out of a ditch.

Trivia: Won Oscar for best song ("Falling Slowly"). Neither of the main leads are professional actors, but musicians.

The Best of Friendship Requests

2011-07-11T16:34:00.013+01:00

Who doesn't love these occasional weirdos?

I do mind, though.

There's a fun side? :O Must cross over.

This one had me in tears:

Of laughter.
Because once just isn't enough!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I obviously hope so too.
Should I draw a map and you can help me find it?

And others don't.

Real charmer, this ^.

I'm wondering if I look sickly in my pictures, because I get a lot of "myself doctor here"s. :/

Good to know.
(Rony, Ronyyy, really?!)

Things I Learnt While on Holiday

2011-07-11T14:01:00.004+01:00

Who says (self) discovery doesn't happen when you're out and about?

Leaving my phone behind was a super idea. I didn't miss it once, though I did borrow mum's phone to send a couple of texts. But a few texts in ten days isn't bad at all. I hadn't wanted to take my phone for several reasons, (a) because it mars the illusion of leading a hermit's life far, far away (b) because when we last went there eleven years ago, there were no phones and I wanted the trip to be as close to that experience as possible (c) it was my birthday and I had no idea how to tell people to stop talking if they called to wish while I was on roaming (d) it would've been really stupid to take it and switch it off on my birthday (e) I absolutely detest being available or reachable all the time. So uncool. I miss the old days of landlines and answering machines (which we never had) and no obligation to call someone back unless expressly asked to do so, and oh, blank calls.

I have awful stamina (I sit around doing nothing all day, but who would've thought). Well, I'm being hard on myself. I managed the walks pretty well as long as they were on level(ish) ground or downhill, but the uphill ones took the mickey out of me and left me huffing and puffing like a hundred year old. That said, I didn't slip on the slippery rocks or pine needles even once (yay) though my calf muscles ached for 2 days after we got home.

This was my first real long-ish term experience with kids, and oh, they like me. A little too much, which made me want to tear my hair out at times, but who doesn't enjoy being a beloved didi? Also, being a teacher is hard. And being a mother must require infinite patience. But despite it all, I missed them so much when I was away for just one evening!

It IS possible to develop a healthy indifference to buzzing and creepy creatures after a while. You will never exactly be pleased to see them when they appear (and appear they shall) but you can calmly assess the situation and decide whether to move, swat or kill rather than screeching unabashedly. A good thing in the long run; it even made me deal with the lizards and mouse that awaited us here at home with decided poise. But more on this later.

Hint: For pictures, visit the photoblog. You won't be disappointed.

The Golden Days of Tennis

2011-07-04T09:47:00.003+01:00

And there we have it. Wimbledon wasn't heartbreaking, after all. Congratulations to Nole, for playing some wonderful tennis and earning this well-deserved trophy and this number 1 ranking, after all the brilliance that he's been this year on the tour. The fact that he beat Nadal to both is just the icing on the cake (sorry, Sonal!). This may not last forever (what does?) but it's here, now, and that's really enough.

As my friend, Sonal, has pointed out, this blog has gone rather long without a tennis-related post. There hasn't been too much to gloat about in that area for a while, and though I really had a post planned out after Roland Garros, I used up all the steam replying to taunts on Facebook and then got rather bored of the whole idea. Tennis news and reporters haven't been much fun of late, simply because they tend to sound pretty idiotic, what with writing several hundred words about a player's English or labelling people the "greatest of all time". The latter is something I find pretty naive; how can you compare a player from 20 years ago with one from today and claim the other is "better" because he won more Slams? Context, as so many forget, is très important.

So let us not forget that Federer started his career before Nadal, and so it's probably natural that he wave goodbye before him too, whenever that will be. Let's also not forget that Nadal's major challenge when he started winning the big ones came in the form of Federer, while in Federer's early years on the circuit there were a number of wonderful players, including but not limited to Hewitt, Roddick, Safin and Sampras and Agassi were still around. That's not to say that Federer was the only challenge for Nadal, but funnily enough he seems to be the only one people talk about as fading before Nadal's racquet. And while Federer's domination in those years was an exciting thing for his fans, it probably wasn't for tennis.

So today, after all these years of doing what he's done in and for the game, if he doesn;t win every single Slam because other players are playing very well too (Nadal isn't dominating either) it's a great thing for tennis as a sport. If this indeed, to quote a number of sports journalists these days, is his "twilight" or "he's fading out" or "aging gracefully", hasn't he earned it? But I think it would be nice to let him do it on his own terms, without branding him with fickle headlines every other day. After the French semi-final where he defeated Djokovic, these same people were lauding his sublime skills and praising him to the skies and buzzing about his "return"; two days later they had once again written off his career. Like Andy Roddick said a few years ago, "you guys are brutal. Absolutely brutal. All he's done is won a Slam and make it to two finals? I'd love his bad year, I'd love it". Apparently, only winning every Grand Slam makes a player truly great.

And then there are the kind of commentators and journalists, my former classmate now one of them, who say things like "Rafa is only 25 and he has 10 Slams which is more than Federer did at that age so he's the greatest and he will break his record" - well, life, luck and a bunch of other brilliant players notwithstanding. And so what, really? So what if he wins more Slams? Did people who love Sampras hate him or undermine him when Federer won a couple more Slams than him? I hardly think that Federer will somehow become less praiseworthy just because Nadal has a couple more trophies than him on his shelf.

I will never like Nadal even if Federer / Djokovic were to vanish suddenly. I have nothing against him as a person, I simply don't enjoy watching him play. His game is all about power and bulldozing after the ball, and some might find that attractive. To each her own. Federer's game is a thing of beauty and just so artistic. Stylish. And that's what makes it so endearing to watch. It helps when a player can crack a smile now and again too, of course. As for the tears, I always rather admired them, but that's a whole other post.

The Secret

2011-07-02T11:13:00.004+01:00

I've been reading Rhonda Byrne's The Secret - the book that swept the globe, so to speak. I always thought it'd be a waste of time and a waste of Rs 600, but mum, who never has much time to read books, asked us to buy it for her when she was going through a low phase. So it's been lying around at home for a couple of years, still unread. It's been started and abandoned several times - not because it's rubbish, but because (in mom's case) it needs to be read attentively and incorporated at every stage (or so she believes), and (in mine) a better book comes along whenever I start it.

So this time I decided to read it in conjunction with other books and at leisure, and I'm pretty determined to get through it. Thus far, my reaction has been swaying between cynicism and "oh yeah that makes so much SENSE!". I do realise that in order for it to "succeed", it needs to be read with faith or belief but that's not easy for me. It challenges a lot of the methods I use in my own life and yet some parts of it make enough sense for me to seriously consider adopting them. Let's see how I feel by the time I get to the end.

I'm currently reading a part that advises the reader to ask for what we want, by writing it down, but in order to do that we need to be sure of what we want. That's never been easy for me either; I have an idea of, say, what I want in the (very) near future, but whenever people ask me where I see myself in 5-10 years, I'm quite stumped. All I can really say to that is that I'd like to be happy. I'd like to know that I've used my time well, that I've learned something and have even more to learn, and not be filled with regret. A noble goal, I think - because if you really try to reach it without a time frame in mind, you're attracting it every step of the way. Easier said than done - I've always maintained it's harder to remain happy and optimistic as compared to sulking and moping especially when things don't go your way.

In the 9th grade, we had this teacher who, in her first class, asked each of us to stand up, tell her our name and our ambition in life. I can't remember what I said to that, but nearly everyone came up with "engineer" or "doctor". Except one girl, who said that she'd like to always be happy and make many friends. The teacher kept repeating "you don't understand, what is your AMBITION in life?" and the other students were laughing. But I think she understood very well.

Bye Delhi!

2011-06-18T21:06:00.003+01:00

For a while, at least.

I'm off to this place, after 11 years. To say I can't wait would be an understatement. I miss it so much it hurts.

See you in a week or two!

Warmfuzzy

2011-06-16T19:57:00.008+01:00

Today has been such an interesting day, which is unusual since all I did was sit at home, and mostly in front of a screen. But anyway. I woke up late, straight out of a very bizarre dream, and switched my mobile on only to find that the best friend had had a very bizarre dream as well. We discussed them for a while (hers had been a long time ago, she's one of those strange people that wake up early even during vacation), arguing over whose was weirder. Hers involved an exam and a gang of motorcyclists. And a boy she knows from school. Mine involved a boy I know from school driving a car, and falling asleep at the wheel with his arms stretched out on both sides of him. I was pretty scared though I start giggling every time I picture it. Apparently, we were on the road last night.

Then I read the newspaper, which was as depressing as ever. But then I discovered Pottermore, and spent an hour cursing JKR for the slyness of it all. I can't believe it'll be a whole week before we find out what it is, AND I won't even be near a computer so I'll have to wait longer and find out after everyone else *sob*.

Then I spent some happy hours reading a sunshine-y blog that seemed like it had come back from the dead, and how. So many surprises, so many colours. I wish my life was half as awesome, hah. Yes, I'm well aware it's mostly my fault. Moving on.

Then I (er, lucky blogs aren't graded) religiously completed another unit of French, which happened to be about breakfast and had some of the most appetizing pictures I've seen in a while. *drool*

Want. Cookies. Now.

But to top it all, I'm so excited because I'm going on holiday soon yay can't wait to get out of this stupid boring city!!!!!!!

Did I ever introduce you to Kara, by the way? I was browsing through old photos and I don't think I have. Say hi.

Don't steal the photos. They're mine. All miiiiiine.

Helpless

2011-06-16T11:53:00.003+01:00

Tiptoe in the line

Of a fire-breathing
Sleeping dragon
You’re almost across
And days have passed
Since it last
Opened those eyes
To attack
In the calm of sunshine
You’ve forgotten
What it was like

Ruby shine
A heart beneath
Beating for everyone
More than herself
And you tickle
And things poke
The eyes open
You’re under attack

In the calm of sunset
You try to calm
Her down
But it’s lost
Reason in frost

And madness
Flows like lava

You’re scorched, melting
Helpless.

It takes a while
To get back on those feet
The calm after the storm
A few days, then repeat

Is there no escape?
No abyss, no well?
Nowhere to surrender
No flames of Hell?
I can feel no ground
Beneath these feet
And I’m falling
I’ve been falling
A long time
No rhythm, no rhyme
No warning bells chime

Rock bottom
Receives me again
Familiar faces
Divide my pain
I’m broken and confused
Vulnerable, abused

And the tears
Flow like lava

I burn, I melt
I’ve never felt
So helpless.

Cloaked in sleep
Healing ever so slowly
Waking up
To a new nightmare
Attempts to resurrect
I couldn't even suspect
That I’d find myself here
Yet again
There’s no looking down
Though up looks no better
I’m trying to climb
Yet again

I must have nerves of steel
But then why do I always feel
So helpless?

A Conversation

2011-06-08T15:10:00.003+01:00

I was reading my diary from 2005 the other day, and came across this entry, copied off of a chain email, no doubt. It moved me then, and it moves me now. If you're an atheist or non-believer, ignore the first few and last few lines. It's really the rest that matters.

***

EDIT: I had written out the entry from my diary, with, as it turns out, some minor changes in the original version. I found the original here, and as it's protected by copyright, I won't republish it. Go take a look!

Singapore Finale: A Place Called Here

2011-06-03T17:50:00.003+01:00

I like airports. More than railway stations or bus terminals - at least the ones I've seen. Airports always instill in me a feverish excitement, a sense of exhilaration, the kind of feeling you get when you know that soon you're going to be up, up and away.

I had an early flight back home, and horrible as I am when it comes to waking up early, I barely got any shut eye at night. Trying to stuff all the purchases - mostly gifts, mind - into my tiny suitcase was no mean feat, but waking up at 5.30am was harder. I kept jumping up at hourly intervals to check the time, having left the light on to make it harder to sleep soundly, and when I was finally roused earlier than my alarm, I decided to get out of bed and prep.

There was something so surreal about watching the dawn in a taxi - just as I'd watched it from the plane when I left Delhi to come here. A fitting farewell. The city looked colorful even in darkness, and that's how I'll remember it, I thought. I was a bit nervous, not having done the whole airport thing alone often, and never at an international one, so I spent quite a while wondering whether I'd missed the luggage scan and, if yes, where it was. Too sleepy to shop duty free, I plonked my backpack and myself on a chair, pulled out a brown paper bag that contained my novel - Cecelia Ahern's A Place Called Here (wrapped up carefully to prevent scratches) and a packet of pineapple cream biscuits, and munched and read happily.

I had carried only this book as my trip novel, but understandably hadn't had a moment to spare. As I opened it to the first page, I wondered if I'd be able to concentrate amidst nervously checking the time to proceed to the boarding gate. But from the first line, I was hooked. Ahern's style of writing has always charmed me, and I wasn't disappointed. She's probably my favorite author after Rowling, and that's saying something. With just the tiniest sprinkle of magic, she makes a point. And this is not magic that heals or fixes, but just teaches, and then leaves. It's so believable because she uses plots that we could easily be in - an imaginary friend, a place where lost things go, a book that tells you what the future holds - but leaves enough ambiguity to doubt even that. Shocking pink cover aside, I think it's weird that some consider her books chick-lit; it's anything but. Maybe that reputation comes from having a largely female readership, but I really think men ought to open up a bit. They can't all be such Naipauls. Anyway, I digress.

I must have read for about an hour when I decided I ought to get closer to the gates - or at least find out where they were - so I tucked the book under my arm, itching to open it again. Past a few signs and a few people, I spotted the gate and chairs beside it, and down went backpack and me again, with my nose already buried in the book. This continued, with pauses for the security check (yay)(though they confiscated my lotion and deo)(mmpf), final boarding call, walk to the aircraft, and so on. With a window seat and two empty seats next to me, I couldn't have asked for more. The book kept me company as I strove to stay awake for breakfast - which turned out to be a forlorn lump of egg and two of chicken, a croissant, some exotic looking fruit and strawberry yoghurt. Boo Air India. After nibbling at it for a while - trying to find something on the TV other than Boyzone videos and some weird Indian reality show, gosh I hate reality shows SO MUCH, but that's another story - I couldn't keep my eyes open so I gave in.

Anyway, I didn't mean to bore you with flight details, and I know that's what I ended up doing. I'm just very distracted by the uber-awesome Federer-Djokovic match right now. So what I really meant to say was - Cecelia Ahern's books are great, and you should go read them. Bye bye.

Experiments with Video

2011-05-30T11:20:00.004+01:00

I finally decided to put my ideas to practise and experiment with video editing. Adobe Premiere Pro FTW. Do watch and tell me what you think - I know it isn't great but it's the first time I've done anything like this - it's a start.

An Idea Can Change Your Life

2011-05-25T14:10:00.002+01:00

Not for nothing is this the catchphrase of one of our popular service providers.

I just finished reading a fascinating book and watching a fascinating movie illustrating this concept. The movie, which we'll get to in a bit, is undoubtedly one that most of you will already have seen, and fairly long ago; the book, I think, is one that not many may have read.

I ~~stole~~ borrowed Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point from dad's collection after coming across a mention of it on an online film tutorial. "I've got this book!" I thought excitedly. There was a time a few years ago when I wouldn't have dreamed of reading non-fiction for pleasure, but clearly times have changed. And this was one fascinating book, so relevant to our lives. It deals with the social epidemic, or in other words, how ideas catch fire. How trends become trends, and most importantly, why they do so. But this wasn't a treatise in fashion or materialism. This was a lesson in psychology, social behavior, the kinds of people that cause an idea to reach it's tipping point - the point at which it grows and spreads uncontrollably, as opposed to an explicable exponential progression. What makes this book so amazing is that it exposes things that you may have taken for granted, and explains them in a lucid, easy-to-read manner. Gladwell uses examples from Hush Puppies and Sesame Street to crime and teenage smoking. This book could be used as a text for advertisers, for management students, for social workers, for anyone interested in getting an idea across to a large number of people or, conversely, trying to break a habit or trend from spreading.

This brings us to the movie - Christopher Nolan's Inception. I am often wary of over-hyped films because they often threaten to disappoint, but this one sure didn't. For quite a while in the beginning, "what is going ON" was the only thought swimming in my head (oh and, "Joseph Gordon-Levitt has grown up!"), and though it is quite complicated to follow at times, it does a wonderful job at clearing it all out, if only to leave us with a titillating ending. (SPOILER ALERT) Exeunt, defeated by a top?

The key line, and what makes the movie so interesting to me, is probably the one likening an idea to the most resilient virus ever known. The dream angle is fascinating as well, since being a vivid dreamer, I can relate to it and especially to the confusion. Ultimately, the movie is less about dreams than about a spark, and implanting that spark in someone's mind subtly enough to make him believe that it was his idea all along. But the use of dreams as the form and means is brilliant, not only because they're a great way to explore the subconscious and thereby bring Cobb's personal weaknesses in (his story, after all, is really what the whole movie is about) but also because any confusion or disparity that may emerge can simply be brushed aside - who can really explain everything about a dream?

In the end, it doesn't matter whether the top keeps spinning or not; what matters is that Cobb stops looking at it. He believes what is happening is real and therefore, he is cured. His catharsis has happened, the guilt is gone; no longer will his dead wife visit him in nightmares. Whether this is indeed the real world ceases to make a difference, for he is here, now, with those he cares about - this is his dream come true.

Growing Up

2011-05-22T16:02:00.005+01:00

And suddenly, all that's left are dried-up paints and filled-in coloring books
And dalmatian emblazoned money boxes
Filled with coins that no one uses anymore
And scrapbooks with peeling newspaper
Cuttings of beauty pageant winners
And stacks of free 'gifts' collected
By opening packets of chips.

And buying those packets just for the gift
(Ha, advertising win)
For when you're grown-uppish, you look down upon
Pageant queens for playing into an ideology (or not)
And become a coin collector because
They don't hold a candle to a cheque

And you don't paint anymore.

And all this lies half-forgotten, buried
In a shelf in your cupboard and
A corner in your mind that you hardly visit
Gathering dust and fading color
But when you excavate, the associations remain
And the people and places play out like
On a TV screen.

A reminder of things gone by but also of things to come
Of why you became who you've become

All Dominique Bretodeau had of his childhood was a metal box
Stowed away behind a forgotten loose tile
A box that reminded him of the boy he used to be and the
Boy who needed him

All he had was a metal box
I, at least, have a shelf.

Fantastic Four

2011-05-15T12:33:00.003+01:00

This year, for the first time, I actually forgot my Bloggiversary. Go me.

I'm getting old. And this is proof.

Anyhow, it was yesterday. I'm sure it's still the 14th in some corner of the world, so now I shall mentally travel there and wish myself.

Okay done. Yay. *balloon*

Here's to many more years of exciting writing. Tee hee hee.

Happy blogbirthday to me!

Drowning

2011-05-15T11:49:00.001+01:00

Dreams strung together on a golden thread
Dreams of azure, dreams fiery red
I thought you were beautiful, within, without,
But you drained them through, you burned them out
The symphony died, the colors no more shone
No match for your dirge, for your monochrome
I was being strangled by a tightening noose
Till I realised I wasn't yours to choose.

The spark didn't die, and now I've peeled away
From you; and I'm facing the day
Sundrops fall and float and glare
Tears vaporize and melt into air
I point my toe, into time it dips
From my shoulder blades to my fingertips
I'm drowning in a sunset, drowning my pain
Falling in headfirst to be born again
Here I am, now, soaked in fire
I'm beautiful; and the world's sapphire
It's the blackest night yet your words won't get far
And I'm an aurora, I'm the Evening star.

Rediscovering...

2011-05-12T14:22:00.000+01:00

...the excitement and apprehension that goes hand in hand with new beginnings.

...the love of learning a new language.

...the highs and lows of music.

I won't divulge details of the first because currently, apprehension far outweighs excitement. But here's the second and parts of the third. Highly highly recommended.

Aaaaand the summer's here.

Singapore VI: Misted Windows and Birds

2011-04-28T11:06:00.015+01:00

An advantage of not swallowing the info in travel brochures and well, not planning every moment of your trip is that you can actually have some time for offbeat stuff that you'll never find in one of those books.

Such is the situation we found ourselves in on the final day of our trip. Try as we did to wake up early for a lunch date with the bro's friends, we ended up keeping them waiting. I blame Saturday. Their idea was to take us to one of the residential areas in the suburb called Choa Chu Kang (it was that or Little India which I strongly vetoed) and then lunch. We arrived at the Choa Chu Kang station by MRT where they were waiting for us, and then got on the Bukit Panjang LRT line for a sort of round trip around the area. Now this line is totally cool. The girls kept us entertained with a load of facts that they claimed to know because they paid attention to Social Studies in school, and, well, because they've lived in Singapore for ages (like the color coded buildings and how clothes are dried on bamboo poles). The line passed pretty close to some of the buildings, in fact so close that you could probably look inside the houses, but as soon as it gained proximity, it's windows automatically misted over to a smoky opaque.

We returned to Choa Chu Kang's Lot One mall for lunch, debating over several exciting-looking exotic cuisines before deciding on KFC ("that was such a fail!") and then the bro and I decided to visit the Jurong Bird Park for two hours.

It was SO AWESOME. I've never seen anything like it. I've been to the Bharatpur bird santuary but it was nothing compared to this - though of course in Bharatpur the birds are free to fly out and migrate and you can't get this close, while here they're pretty much closed in. I'm not sure I like that idea much; birds are meant to fly, after all.

The park is huge and there are several trails to choose from - we decided on a walking tour this time rather than a tram. Armed with our map and rucksacks (and cameras), we started on one leg of the trail, beginning with Penguin Coast which was in a wooden building shaped like a ship, and like a refrigerator inside. Like everything in Singapore, it was wonderfully maintained, with neon information tablets and LCDs. See some penguin pictures here.

Next up was Macaw Island - macaw's are gorgeously colorful and extremely noisy. Just so you know.

Then some orange-y birds with long necks that I can't remember the name of, then World of Darkness with its various owl species. Then some pretty flowers (hee), scarlet ibises, attempts to squint at the Bird of Paradise which remained adamantly hidden, and then Lory Loft, which was the best part. Lories are tiny brightly colored birds, sort of like parrots, but they're quite friendly and if you buy bird feed ($3) and hold it out, they will come and perch on your hands, arms, shoulders, and in my case, head.

I thought this sign was so creative - each letter is a bird in flight!

They loved Sahil's shoulder!

And this guy's cap!

Did you know ostriches were descended from dinosaurs?

The sign says "be a palaeontologist and unearth dinosaur remains. Have fun!". For the Ross in everyone.

Then Pelican Cove and a lake of swans (heh) at a run, because the park was going to close down and we didn't much feel like camping with the birds.

Beautiful, beautiful.

Please do not use pictures without permission.

The Moving Image

2011-04-22T11:24:00.006+01:00

Yesterday, Nids introduced me to this stunning blog and I couldn't take my eyes off it for a long long time. Not only are the pictures just beautiful, they also move - but in lovely, subtle ways - a slight shift of the eye, a slight dance of the hair or swish of a frill. And the template just sent me into another world. Sigh.

As it turns out, creating moving images like this is quite an easy task. All you need is the right kind of image - a tripod and burst mode would be pretty ideal I'd imagine. I found this simple tutorial for Photoshop and tried my hand at it: et voilà! They aren't perfect, and I know pretty much where I'm going wrong, but not bad for a first try! Plus none of the images in these were shot for the purpose so the camera shake and unmatched framing are causing problems...

But I'm having WAY TOO MUCH FUN!

EDIT: They're called cinematographs! How perfect. My spell check doesn't recognise it though, ah well. Read an article on them in today's The Times of India, which mentioned Jamie Beck (of the stunning blog mentioned above). Woot.

First: The sound and light show "Songs of the Sea", Sentosa, Singapore
Second: Sahana's performance at the Kamakshi temple
All rights reserved.

Singapore V: Ice

2011-04-16T13:57:00.003+01:00

So as I sit here in my room, determinedly typing out a post and melting slowly and steadily, my mind wanders back to the holiday. I suppose my aunt having returned from there today has something to do with it, as does the constant lamentation and insecurity that stifles me in Delhi. Isn't it so sick that you have to worry even about taking a walk by yourself, at any time of the day, in this city? The freedom I felt in Singapore, whoa. Nothing can match it. Well, nothing here ever has.

I think the one thing I was most looking forward to was ice skating. I've wanted to try it for as long as I can remember. So there we were, a train ride and Italian lunch later, paying at the counter from behind which bursts of frozen air kept issuing. I could hardly contain myself. We procured the skates and proceeded to tie them tightly, while listening to a tiny girl in a blue tutu being scolded by her mother/coach. Skates and gloves on, we trundled across the carpet (walking on carpets on those skates isn't hard at all, contrary to what I expected, though I should have known it was all too easy to last). Inside the rink were a bunch of brightly attired kids and youngsters, skating away to glory, complete with spins, jumps, twirls et al, à la Ice Princess. There were a bunch of others clinging to the yellow bars, but I was too entranced by the able-to-skate category to pay much attention to them. I couldn't wait to get in and spend two glorious hours in this freezing haven.

Then I stepped onto the ice.

And my feet must have decided they had a brain of their own instructing them, because the one in my head sure wasn't. They squiggled around a lot and I could barely stand and I cursed for doing this to myself. For two whole friggin', frigid hours. I panicked so much that everyone around me must have had a good guffaw watching me trying to stop moving and only making it worse, and S actually ABANDONED me that way and went off. He came back after I screeched his name a couple of times though.

But in the end, I did have fun. I managed to cling to the side and waddle a bit, even surviving the railing-less areas and making some friends along the way (who just took pity on me, I think) and then finally, after two entire clingy rounds, I got my gloved hands off the railing and moved a bit. S decided I needed help after all, so we took some daring strides across the rink, in the process of which I got so excited at being able to keep my balance that I tried to go quicker and landed twice on my backside. Which was quite fun too. S managed to avoid falling with me by doing some signature acrobatic moves (read: waving arms and legs like a windmill to keep his balance) which probably looked funnier than my falling.

Good times.

Stuff that makes me go :D

2011-04-07T17:19:00.004+01:00

Not being woken up by phone calls in the morning.

Remembering why someone looks SO familiar.

Getting stuff in the post. And not bills.

Snatching a five minute lie in after brushing my teeth and before breakfast. At the foot of the bed, pillow-less.

Watching FRIENDS episodes back to back for hours.

Lolling on the sofa.

Not having a job.

Arguing just because I can and calling it healthy debate.

When the sun acts all nice and obliging during a photo shoot. Natural lighting is SO hot.

Going "hee hee hee" in my head (or aloud) when something tickles. Especially if it's something really stupid. Yeah, I revel in an immature sense of humour.

Naming inanimate objects. Hey, they've got feelings too.

Chronicling and documenting stuff, through photos, writing, scrapbooks and scraps. And torn tickets, candy wrappers, bits of thread, you get the gist.

Jumping and spinning around in front of the mirror pretending I'm an awesome dancer after watching a dance show/movie.

Killing mosquitoes. Especially on the first try. Especially snatching one from the air and letting it suffocate.

Thinking up witty remarks in imaginary conversations.

Telling myself I'm crazy and moving on.

Fixing potential Eve-teasers with withering stares.

When the best friend (who has a new rant-blog!) sends me long convoluted links that turn out to be something she knows I'll love.

Having someone to send long convoluted links to that I know she'll love.

Good conversation. Even better if there's good food involved.

Remembering there's leftover chocolate in the fridge *runs off*

PS - See this too! 1000 Awesome Things.

April's Fool

2011-04-01T17:56:00.005+01:00

So, recent developments have led to me crunching numbers, which is something I really don't enjoy.

A money-less world. What a dream!

Also, where is spring? Delhi's seasons seem to be summer-autumn-winter-autumn-summer-some more autumn. Strange.

It's still pretty though!

More updates soon and the finale - actually, a quarter- and semi- finale too maybe - of the Singapore trip! Gosh, it never seems to end.

And lastly but not leastly, PLEASE be kind enough to visit and go through my photo blog - and leave a comment. Pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top. I'm looking for critique and feedback which hardly seems to come. Thank you in advance!

Afternoons Off

2011-03-29T16:37:00.007+01:00

It's not everyday that you have a date with your best friends.

Phase I was at Pizza Hut. I was greeted with a:
S: Oh hey! You look like Kirsten Stewart today.
Me: *distracted*
S: ...I hate Kirsten Stewart.
Me: ...So what are you saying?
S: Nothing, the two statements were totally unrelated. I just think you look like her today, and I hate her.
Me: So you're insulting me?
S: No! why would you think that? I don't hate you, I just hate her.
Me: And I look like her?
S: Yeah (in a why-is-this-so-difficult-to-understand tone)
Me: So you're insulting me by extension?

Yeah, so I never did get a satisfactory answer or explanation. Guess who isn't getting a birthday present?

***

Waiter: Can I take these extra plates away?
Us: Sure.
Waiter: *places mojitos and spritzers before us* Can I take your glasses still full with water away?
Us: Um, sure.

This continued, with the garlic bread basket and pizza pan both being whisked out of sight as soon as the last crumb and capsicum (respectively) had been picked up.

Me: *bemused* You wait, now he's going to come ask if he can take our bags away.

***

Boy at neighboring table: *rattles off some complex physics laws* (aren't the board exams over already?)
His mom: (or tutor?): *stares*

Stares at us, that is. This continues for a while until:

S: (whispering rather loudly) Hey why is that woman looking over at us as though we're some strippers about to hit her with pom-poms?

***

Enter N. Raptures all around.

N: No thanks I won't take a single bite or sip out of your almost finished meal. Let's do origami!
(We have been origami addicts for a few weeks because of this.)

Some origami and weird stares later, we did actually fill out another fake feedback form, this time under the highly original name of Rebecca Black. Fun fun fun fun. Last time it was Dobby. Because we had just seen the movie, okay.

Then to the shady (with all its connotations) Hauz Khas Fort, which turned out to be a paradise of green water and catcalls, and where we jumped from ledges and climbed gates to "explore". A car drive home, or was supposed to be, but excited chatter led to us getting quite lost after a zillion wrong turns and happy laughs. The photos were quite something too.

I say remember this feeling. :)

I See Sparks Fly... (Singapore IV)

2011-03-19T10:01:00.004Z

It's been nearly two months since my trip and thanks to all the work that piled up, I still haven't finished writing about it. Without further ado, then...

Sentosa!

In the afternoon. Not a bright idea. We lunched at the Vivo mall (lemon chicken with rice, delicious) from where there is a direct train to Sentosa. The ticket - and this is the best part - costs only S$3 for the entire day, and you can use it to get off at any stop and move to and fro between the various attractions at Sentosa. Of course, the "attractions" cost hefty fines, so choose carefully - though a day at the beach costs nada. A wonderful deal, I think.

The majestic merlion - the larger one (the one normally seen in travel brochures resides at Raffles Place) was spectacular, and houses an exhibit gallery inside, which we decided to skip. We did pay for a view from the Tiger Sky Tower, which frankly was a waste of money - S$15 for not even a 15-minute "ride" which was too fast to take anything in, including photos. I did want to go somewhere with an aerial view, but be advised, this is probably not the best place. Marina Bay - which I missed out on - is supposed to have something similar.

I love beaches. I've hardly ever been to any, barring the year I lived in Chennai, but the beaches there were dirty and really no fun. I've always thought I could just sit on the beach for hours and listen to the songs of the sea, but haven't ever really had the opportunity. This time, we were in a hurry because we had bought tickets to the famed sound and light show - called Songs of the Sea - and didn't have quite enough time. We did chase a friendly peacock on Palawan Beach and walk a rope bridge, though. And I got some nice photos/videos of the sea and the sea shore that I can now watch and be reminded of what I missed.

The sound and light show was quite a treat, quite worth the money, quite entertaining and spectacular to watch. Initially we thought it was going to be just singing and holograms, but then the fireworks began. Simply stunning.

Sentosa has a host of experiences to offer - at the risk of sounding like I'm advertising it - but even a day might not be enough to take it all in. It would be a good idea to pre-decide what you want to spend your time (and money!) on and explore accordingly. If you have only time and no money, just spend your day making sand castles on the beaches (yes, there are more than one, with free buses and trams taking you from one to the other). Most of all, just soak in all the color.

China-Chinese (And Singapore III)

2011-02-27T10:34:00.008Z

**You know how Anne Shirley talked about epochs in her life? I think about it like that too. An epoch in my life just came to an end. Six months of art appreciation classes are hardly an epoch, you say. Well, you don't get to attend classes with your best friend everyday. You don't get to graffiti each other's notebooks or laugh or yawn in unison.

And you don't get to crib about assignments or text each other at 2a.m. to see how they're doing, or race for deadlines together or post links of Mona Lisa making faces on each other's walls. (Well, you can actually still do that...)

There's something so priceless about it all.

We went to hand in our final submissions at the National Museum on Friday, and thought we'd check out the "Ancient Treasures of China" ex hibit there, having researched and written about it just a day earlier. The exhibit is wonderful, with objects from the Neolithic times right up to the Qing Dynasty before modern China (the People's Republic) if I remember correctly. They've even got two soldiers from the Terracotta Army standing there on display! It's on till March 20 and I definitely recommend a visit.

The entrance to the exhibit was adorned with Chinese lanterns which led to an immediate flashback to Singapore, especially Chinatown, which was possibly my favorite-est place there. While we'd planned on going there to visit the Heritage Center on Pagoda Street (dramatic irony alert), we decided that our immediate need was food. And being in Chinatown meant not having authentic Chinese would be a sacrilege of sorts. Finding ourselves on Pagoda Street, we took our pick from the line of Chinese restaurants and finally chose a fiery orange one. Each table was piled with soup spoons and chopsticks (who uses that many?) and we ate our rice and noodles with soup spoons, much to everyone's amusement. Chopsticks can be really hard to handle. (No worries though, for that night we witnessed people eating parathas with spoons and forks.)

Chinatown is a shopper's delight, if you're a shopper like me, that is. I loved the authentic and ethnic things that were up on sale for wonderful deals, and bought most of the presents for friends and family from there. The red-orange-ness of the street was overwhelmingly beautiful as the shops decked up for the Chinese New Year, with Disney-like rabbit heads floating all over the place. (Check out photos on my brand new photoblog here.) We even found a Tintin shop where everything was exorbitantly priced but really fun to look at. And we finally arrived at the Heritage Center minutes after it closed for visitors.

No harm done, though - we managed to avoid yet another overpriced entry ticket. If there's one thing to empty your wallet in Singapore, it's the tickets. Plus, I remembered Paulo Coelho's advice. So, all for the better, I suppose!

**All rights reserved on photos. Please don't use them without permission.

Singapore II: Wild Night

2011-02-09T21:18:00.006Z

So now that I have your attention, here's what this post is really about: a night safari. I've been on one of those pathetic excuses for a safari things in India - Sariska and Ranthambore, to be specific, where all you ever get to see are a couple of deer and wild cows, maybe a parrot or two, a lot of dried-up grass and sometimes dust.

This was different.

When I travel, I usually obsessively research and make lists about the places I want to visit and how to go about doing it. This trip was by far the most unplanned, resulting in some not-so-smart decisions, and a LOT of laziness. Which is good too. An unplanned trip equals spontaneity. Laziness, however, equals leaving inexcusably late for every place that you ambitiously put down on the itinerary for the day. But I digress.

The Singapore Night Safari is famous. It's not just a safari, it's an experience complete with grub (at one of the many restaurants, some of which have animal-shaped stools to sit on) and performances. I don't have the inside story though, because, in case you didn't get the drift, we were late. We had about enough time for the 40 minute tram ride, which was fine because our feet vehemently protested against being used anyway.

I have never seen this many animals in my life. Seeing them at night, not behind bars, in their habitat and usual habits is simply exquisite. Some, like the deer, were fearlessly close, enough to actually touch while remaining comfortably seated. Both us and them, that is. A Bengal tiger reclined on a rock with her cubs, the "King of the Jungle" looked its usual majestic self, even as the announcer introduced several animals that could easily throw him off his throne. A pair of antelopes stood with antlers entwined in a fight of power while a whole audience of deer sat around in a circle to watch. Very Bambi. As if this were a cue, the announcer actually mentioned Bambi as a non-spotted deer and fondly asked if we remembered him. Gosh, that story used to make me so very sad. Sniff. One of my favorite parts of the night was a pack of wolves that stood, each on a different rock under the silvering moonshine, howling in unison with their snouts straight up. Leopards were seen when we were given a "walking break" on the Leopard Trail, and the hugest elephants you can imagine. Like, as huge as about a few hundred of me put together.

I'd heard that the walking tour was considered far more satisfactory, and I can understand that, though I can't ever imagine doing it all alone. Especially the caves where the bats reside and fly gleefully at unsuspecting strangers. No, I didn't actually go into the caves, but yes, I am fairly sure that that's what happens.

Also, do try not to fall for the $20 photograph they will try to sell you. I feel that it's my duty to pass on the warning, having failed at it myself.

I don't regret it, though. T'was a bloody awesome picture.

Singapore I: Dawn in an Aeroplane

2011-01-28T19:00:00.004Z

And January comes to a close. A pretty stressful, eventful, exciting month all rolled into one. I'm not sure if that sentence makes sense. But I'm so so tired. Yawn.

I have a niggling feeling that another year "off" might be waiting for me. And while I don't think that'll be such a tragedy, I'm not sure I'll have the patience or strength to deal with...people. But enough unpleasantness for now. The real purpose of this post is to trigger off a short series about my short (but awesome) trip to Singapore last week. Gosh, I can't believe it's only been a week...feels like eons ago! Perhaps that's because I was back at work when I got back and have been ever since. A work-free life...what a dream!

This trip resulted in the first stamps in my passport, a brand new camera bought especially for the occasion (well, after being put off for ages. It feels SO good to spend that much money on something when it's all yours! I've saved up my pocket money, which was mostly measly, since the age of about five, waiting for that "special something" to come along that would make it all worth it. And it was.), and well, everything that comes with a first trip to phoren. And the sense of triumph when you get when you're back, when you realise you managed, all alone. I went with the brother and it was mostly the two of us gallivanting across the city, living "on the edge" (read: catching the very last train/bus back to campus every night to avoid the humungous taxi fare we had to pay when we missed them).

But mostly, I really want to hold onto all those special moments and feelings because I felt like I never wanted to come back. And that doesn't happen to me often. I love traveling but I always like coming home too. Sometimes I feel like a misfit, wonder if I was born in the wrong place and time, and sometimes I really feel the need to live elsewhere for a long-ish period just to remember the feeling of missing my country. I feel like it'd be the only way I'd really learn to...value it. Coming back was like jerking out of a reverie, severing all those feelings to get back to the drag, to pick up where I'd left off. There's never a clean break. And the more I try to hang on to the details, the faster they siphon away.

The view from an aeroplane is breathtaking at night. This was the first flight I've ever taken after dark, and there's something so special about the twinkling, sparkling, glittering pinpricks of every color you can imagine, peppered across and below. But more enchanting was when I suddenly woke up around dawn with a twisted neck, to find myself gazing into a clouded bed that directed my eyes to a red, red stripe on the horizon, and the disk that was rising as sleepily as me spreading golden rays.

At least that's what I think it was like. I was sleepy.

Songs for the Year

2010-12-31T20:02:00.008Z

I meant for this to be a goodbye post, but then my computer hung up for a few hours while it had its own party, and the date has changed. So, a welcome post it shall be.

2010 - I don't know where to start. So much happened this year. It was a great year. That's not to say it didn't have it's valleys and dips, but there was so much that could have gone wrong and didn't. That's the first feeling that engulfs me when I look back: gratitude. The first prayer I always say starts with a thank you for all that is. And so, in a way, I fulfilled the only resolutions I set down for myself: live in the present, enjoy the moment, carpe diem.

The second resolution was one to not give up, to push myself and keep going no matter what. I had ups and downs but I trundled on. I took great risks and got greater rewards. "Fearless" wasn't really a word in my vocabulary, but at least the fears were acknowledged and faced and even overcome. Hey, it's progress!

It's been a year of adventures and hard work and goals and milestones. Of making and strengthening bonds. It's been a year in which I surprised myself, over and over. Nice feeling, that. It's been a year of full, and yet fulfilling, calendar spaces. It's been a year of so many firsts and so many tests. And I'm proud of myself for having dealt with them so well, because you really never know what you can do until there's no one else to do it.

It's been a year of goodbyes and hellos. So many amazing people came and went, but mostly stayed. People who, for some reason I fail to fathom, like me even though I do nothing to deserve it. I know what my resolution this year will be. A big thank you to you all - you make my world go round.

It was also a year of attempting, if not quite achieving, the perfect balance. Getting over the part, anticipating the future - sandwiched between the two in a "gap" year which was all about the present. It's so easy to lose sight of the present moment, so easy for it to dissolve, but if one thing on my full calendar makes me happy, it's the smiley face beneath the scribbles on almost every weekend. And it was so important to do that to keep going. Work first, life afterward - really not a wise mantra. At times, I went so fast that everything was just a colorful blur. But stopping is important too. You need something to balance the weight on the see-saw so you don't go down.

I've been so lucky. I can only hope that I can continue to improve, to build upon what was begun, to fix what was wrong and be a better person. 2011 has a lot in store - and a lot of competition too. It could be the year that makes or breaks everything - so to speak. But it really isn't fair to put so much pressure on it. All one can do is hope.

This could be your story just as it was mine. I hope that you, at any rate, found something you could connect with. And if you're here, now, reading this, then this is for you.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2010-12-26T15:30:00.006Z

I can't get this song out of my head since I watched my favorite Christmas movie, Home Alone 2, on Friday. I don't really know why, but Christmas has always been my favorite festival. It's not really because I'm partly Christian, or even that we celebrated it lavishly - or even celebrated it at all. Maybe it's because the spirit of the festival is so exciting to a child, all the norms and rituals associated with it that you read about in Enid Blytons or Charles Dickens or Harry Potters just make it a wonderful experience - even if you haven't really experienced it. India being India always has had Santa Claus in the marketplace and Christmas trees - usually the artificial miniatures, but Christmas trees nonetheless, to delight the imagination of any child.

Now, of course, times are a-changing and Christmas is a big deal to everyone. Nothing like London or New York, the city won't shut down completely, but you will find a gargantuan crystal tree at Select Citywalk, a gargantuan fir at Promenade, at least a small one in most homes and Archies' cards never sold out more quickly. Everyone seemed to want to be out and about on the day, crowding malls and clogging roads, but in spite of them. I, for example, blatantly ignored the thermometer - the mercury was suspiciously above the normal body temperature and I was coughing all over the place, but Christmas was not to be compromised.

Having slept at 5 am on Christmas morning, owing to Santa's arrival, waking up in the ~~morning~~ afternoon was no mean feat. Mum told me our tree looked lovely in the sunlight and I should really go take a look, so I traipsed off bleary-eyed and frizzy-haired to satisfy her. And I found presents! Under the tree! This had never happened before!

I was very late for my lunch date with the girls - our usual trio this time also included a dear friend from school who I fondly remember calling to ask for help with Math problems and who we haven't seen once since we left school. Her rather gory med school tales of breaking ribs with a hammer to get inside were a distraction from the Christmas spirit, but now we know why doctors are unfeeling. Haha.

Presents were exchanged and the table in the drawing room was adorned with cards, one arriving all the way from Athens, and the tree stood small and sparkly, and music was blasted from the speakers and tea was drunk, and the dining out dream ended when no table was to be found. But we brought home a sumptuous meal and ate in the comfort of heaters and conversation. And my midnight book surprised me with a chapter devoted to the most wonderful Christmas you could ever imagine, leaving me warm and fuzzy and happy and Christmassy.

I freakin' love Christmas.

Mughals et al (2)

2010-12-14T17:51:00.009Z

First read this.

It was my parents' anniversary. It's funny how occasions end up being so important, isn't it? We do and are anything everyday, taking things for granted and living like there's always a tomorrow, and then we look forward to the few days in the year that we celebrate because there's a reason to...or is it an obligation? Birthdays, anniversaries, festivals...they come and go, and we wait for them and plan for them and feel older when we're done. I wish we could really celebrate each day, and be thankful each night, and live like there may not be a tomorrow.

But I digress.

Their anniversary was partly why I'd insisted on choosing those dates for our Agra trip, and though the choice of place had been quite random, it was perfect in so many ways. Wouldn't you like to visit the greatest monument to love on your anniversary? Well, maybe not. But somehow, when things like that happen unprecedented, it does give you thrills. Agra was also the first place they lived at after marriage. That evening, after I visited the Agra Fort with dad (a symmetrical delight, that place is. With a gorgeous sunset and river view to complement it. And check this out.), we went to Sadar Bazaar, and I was treated to tales of yore when they used to visit it. Upon my insistence, dad drove us to their house, and they talked about the route and the city and the changes all along the way. I felt half left-out, half (strangely) emotional. Like an onlooker. Like an omniscient narrator. We got lost once in the darkness, but then there it was. We gazed at it for a while, that first floor shrouded in blackness, lost in our thoughts.

The next day we managed to squeeze in two more visits before beginning the journey back, and my intuition chose correctly both times. Itmad ud Daula's tomb is made of white marble as well, but unlike the Taj, provides a strange serenity. Not many tourists flock there, and a gentle river breeze kept us company throughout. The entire tomb is covered with inlay work, which has chipped off in several parts but remains alluring through its age, and the tranquility is overpowering.

Akbar's tomb at Sikandra was left for the last and briefest of visits. We thought we'd take a ticket and a cursory look to satisfy our souls, but little did we realise that walking through the entrance would take us into a different world. Like Harry stepping on to Platform 9 and 3/4, except better. A panorama of green green green expanses, stretching out to infinity on both sides. Not a sound or sight of traffic or city life. I felt like I had actually stepped right through time, into a bygone era, with a red sandstone marvel standing in front of me in the distance, and half expecting a figure in royal vestments to come strolling out.

Well, not really. There were enough tourists here to mar the illusion, but it came pretty close to that. And I hadn't even spotted the deer until then. I walked forth, following my camera which was very interested in the odd trees, when I saw what looked like...were they dogs? They didn't look like dogs, but I'm a little blind. And why would there be deer in the midst of a city. I looked over at dad quizzically, but he was excitedly taking videos. Then I saw peacocks, and some white birds, and antelopes. I have never seen antelopes before, so you can imagine my glee. We took a long time to get out of there.

If we didn't have special occasions to celebrate, or to goad us to celebrate, none of this might have happened. So many ironies.

Mughals et al

2010-12-07T18:05:00.004Z

I have realised that I am fascinated by the Mughal era. I can't pinpoint the exact moment or reason for this epiphany - though I think it probably began when I did a transcription assignment of the Agra sound and light show. It wasn't exactly accurate or intriguing, but it was entertaining and interesting. I certainly learned a lot from it, or at least had my memory refreshed. The trip to Agra last month intensified it, for the architecture of the Mughals is...inspiring. And right after the trip, Destiny threw in a class on Mughal miniature paintings and Mughal architecture in the art appreciation course, which only served to cement my understanding and fascination more strongly.

Of course, I don't yet know a lot about them. And my admiration doesn't extend to all the emperors equally. What I arguably find most endearing is their devotion and inclination towards the arts, rather than war. Wars they fought, and courageously so, but Humayun's inner crisis to have a peaceful existence, or Akbar's navratnas, or Shah Jahan's adoration - these are what make them so memorable. They attained perfection in whatever they did, and that's because they aspired to it. The era is made all the more interesting because of it's diversity - the tolerance of other faiths (for the most part), the influence of Persia on their art and of Islam in their architecture combined with traits taken from the Hindustan that they called their home. And finally, it's not mythology, it's history, and it parades the proof of this fact. I find that oddly satisfying.

The first and only time I visited Agra was ten years ago, and I was too young to really appreciate what it stood for. The Taj Mahal held a fascination that was strangely absent this time. Perhaps it was because of the anxiety to take good photos despite the spoilsport sky, or perhaps it was the madding crowd. It will always be beautiful, and yes, quite perfect, but I was only really awed when I returned and saw the photographs. We thought we'd check if we could have one of those midnight glimpses we keep hearing about, but the guards found our enquiry extremely amusing. They implied we were crazy, and wondered why we wanted to see the same structure in the dark when we had just seen it. I snobbishly dismissed them as people who don't understand such stuff. Then I found out that the night-view ticket cost Rs. 5,500.

It was all very amusing.

To be continued.

My Current Wallpaper

2010-12-01T20:09:00.003Z

Just because it's so pretty! View large, by the way. And yes, more on the Agra trip shall follow VERY soon.

Potter At Last

2010-11-22T10:12:00.003Z

Never having been a huge fan of the Harry Potter movies, I nonetheless end up watching them all out of a sense of obligation/commitment/ritual/curiosity. Even if they never live up to expectation, it's rather good fun laughing at Daniel's blank expressions or imitating Bellatrix's maniacal laughter. This time was no different - and yet different in so many ways.

It was the first time I watched it without the company of the brother, who has forsaken me for foreign shores. But change is good, right? This was also the first time we had pre-booked tickets and the first time I watched it with my equally Pottermaniacal best friends. Funny how that never happened before. I can't say that I really participated enthusiastically in all the "EEEEEEE"ing that ensued prior to D-Day, but I did have a laugh (or squirm) with cheesy HP pickup lines (yes, there really is a Facebook group dedicated to them) and with this video that Nids' sent to me. I couldn't get the chorus out of my head.

I also need to revisit the Potter Puppet Pals.

Anyway, my mood prior to the movie was slightly marred by dreams...or nightmares, if you will. The first consisted of the best friends canceling and leaving me utterly dejected, even though I hadn't expressed the aforesaid enthusiasm. The second consisted of me waking up, realising (happily) that it had just been a dream, hoping that my dreams didn't have prophetic powers, only to find my friends canceling and leaving me utterly dejected, as I now had the extra sorrow of (a) a bad dream come true (b) the relative mood uplift and relief at finding out that the first dream was only a dream followed by this blow (c) the burden of having prophetic dreams.

When I finally did wake up, it was to a barrage of phone calls and SMSes by the best friends chiding me for not waking up, warning me to be on time, reminding me to bring money etc. So yes, my dreams fortunately aren't prophetic and I will never have a superpower. Yay.

The movie turned out to be surprisingly good, fairly true to the book, with a handful of entertaining scenes and Rupert-Ron was awesome as usual with his comic timing. It's hard to imagine that this time next year, it'll all be over and we'll be looking forward to a bleak existence without Harry and his world. It's been seven year long journey for me, and I really don't want to say goodbye.

Of Life-Determining Decisions

2010-11-08T15:19:00.004Z

Ever since I was a little girl - though, actually, I still am - no, really! I'm NOT a twenty-something, I'm really just five. Why don't people believe me when I say that? Hmph. So, as I was saying, I like making lists. Sometimes I think that maybe it's a result of mild OCD or something, because "write it down" is like my personal mantra. From little daily to-do lists to ambitious vacation lists to plans for a whole year to shopping lists and cool-things-that-happen-on-a-trip lists and cool-stuff-we-say lists and lists of things I eventually hope to photograph/blog about/write about...well, you get the idea. I have so many lists that get abandoned or make me feel useless because, of course, many of them remain un-struck. But there's nothing more delightful than a list that has been checked and fulfilled. And I can't live without them altogether either, because the inside of my head is always a mess.

So the point of all this was that it is understandable, then, that I turned to making lists in order to find out my ideal job/career. Admittedly this was Nids' idea (we're best friends for a reason) but it does help to put down, in some form, things that you want from a job and which are important to you. I actually got about 8 points before getting distracted, so now when someone recommends a career for me, all I got to say is "nope, sorry, this one doesn't match point number x [x= 1 to 8]" and, voila! case closed.

Of course, this has one major shortcoming: not arriving at an answer at all. Whoa, didn't see that one coming. So then I made another list (surprise surprise) with careers/jobs I covet, fictional or otherwise. Which started out pretty seriously, but lapsed into fantasy (aided by Nids again) pretty soon:

My list of things to do after I retire will be significantly cooler. I wish I could retire.

Not About October

2010-11-03T13:31:00.003Z

Ah, how October flew. I'm still a little aghast that it's actually gone, never to return. Why the fuss, you might ask. Well, somehow in my mind, the word 'October' had become intrinsically linked with a lot of life-changing decisions. Which, uh, never happened.

Don't get me wrong - October was fun! I just looked at my calendar and there isn't a single empty space on it except the one day when the thermometer claimed I had fever (though I still felt quite energized) and I got to skip work. Of course, I may never have actually had fever because the mercury stubbornly remained at the same spot for three days. But oh well. Admittedly, most of these days were spent at work, some happy, some sad, some in sunshine, some in hailstorms (honest) and a lot of movies, not so much reading (sigh) and a nice healthy balance of crazy-fun weekends. Now, that's life.

But this post isn't really about October.

I don't really know what this post was supposed to be about. I'm a bit disoriented. In all my million days of eating meals in front of the television, I have never yet dropped a crumb. Until today, when I managed to tumble my whole plate and it's contents onto the floor. Upside-down lunch isn't nice. And the horoscope said Wednesday was to be my lucky day. Hmph.

I think I'll go make myself useful now. I feel studious. I think I'm going to write a paper. I really want to! I'm so excited! All these emotions are one year too late!

But who cares, I'm going to become a jaded old maid anyway. :| :D

Smile with your Liver

2010-10-18T19:41:00.003+01:00

So I finally watched Eat, Pray, Love. A movie well made, with quite an excellent script and yet true to the book. I think there's something so reassuring in reading a book or watching a movie based on a true story, knowing that these things happened to someone and not just in their head. Sometimes, you need that. Fiction sustains, but there's nothing more inspiring than a real life miracle. That's what I got from Liz Gilbert's story. That, and more.

It's funny how we spend our lives doing things that we think will one day contribute to our happiness. We study hard to ensure a good future, we give up vacations for internships and entrance exams, we get jobs which are demanding and leave us with no time for ourselves or anyone else, for that load of money we want to hoard up for the future; we put off breaks and holidays, always focusing on the urgent and forgetting that time waits for no one. And then it's too late and we feel like we wasted away, because all those college day vacations will never return, and maybe those internships added a line to our resume and landed us the job that kills us and doesn't give us any time to use up the money we've hoarded up. Or maybe they didn't.

Everywhere I turn, people are in a rush. Or worried. Or busy. I find this the most when I turn to myself. Always trying to do too much, always wanting more. Being a dreamer is one thing, but when those dreams start to ruin your life, maybe it's time to stop dreaming for a while. Maybe it's time to put a stop to the quarter-life crisis you find yourself in, every moment of every day. Maybe it's time to unwind, accept, breathe, be. Time to do nothing, even if just for a while every now and then. To switch your cell phone off or put your ear phones in. To forget the world around you, and be absorbed by it. Dolce far niente. Sweet idleness. I'm going to remember that.

Oh, and I'm also going to remember to smile with my face, mind and liver.

zemni.deviantart.com

Five Star

2010-10-04T18:32:00.008+01:00

Have you ever stayed at a five star hotel...wait for it...for free? It's a strangely exhilarating experience. I would know. Hee. My masi got invited for a complimentary overnight stay at a hotel that opened as recently as Friday, and she invited me to go along. Of course I couldn't say no. So that's how it happened.

It started out rather normally: we got lost. After taking a long, suspicious detour and doubling back, we finally spied the entrance and sauntered to the reception.

Everything was beautiful. My camera had a tiring day.

Despite it being evening, we traipsed off to the dining area, having decided that free food was something not to be passed over because of something as trivial as the wrong mealtime. So we sat down to order 'lunch'. The menu was a very large piece of glass that I had to seat on my lap, with a silver holder-thing for the paper. We spent 10 minutes scanning the page and desperately trying to figure out which language it was. Our silence was punctuated by the occasional "Um, what's a tenderloin burger?" before we discovered that the menu had several more pages of treats to choose from. Delight!

Until...

Finally, I bravely ordered what the waiter said was "ear-shaped" pasta, and masi just asked him what was good and had a chicken burger. It cost Rs. 660 and I inwardly blessed McDonalds for existing. Sipping a cold coffee that would have emptied my bank account, I happily reflected how free stuff really made life more wonderful.

My pasta was nice. Not really ear-y. And very filling. Too filling. I couldn't finish it though it did look considerably diminished, but I still fretted about hurting the chef's feelings. Sniff.

My favorite part about hotels are the beds. The kind you just sink into, surrounded by a sea of puffy pillows you never want to emerge from. Which is what I did for the most part. Reading Me and Mr. Darcy, and wondering if Pemberley could be this lovely. It probably could. Hmm.

The elevators always opened of their own accord, as though they had been waiting for us. Once, it was occupied by a certain foreign gentleman who dissuaded us from entering since it was going up, "at least I hope so," he said. A frantic "Oh no!" in an adorable Brit accent just as the doors had closed told us otherwise. How cute. We guffawed at that at least 5 times that day. Hee.

And after all this, I turned down an offer to watch the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony at the JN Stadium. Me and my indolence. Watched the whole thing on tv though, and I must say it surpassed my expectations. Though I mistakenly thought Kalmadi was being cheered ("Aww, how nice!") and not boo-ed ("really?!"), though why he would have deserved the cheers, I don't know. I think I just got carried away with the awesomeness of it all, and yes, pride, and relief for the government and even the OC, that something finally went right. Hmm.

Lessons in Geography

2010-09-26T18:25:00.005+01:00

There are times when I wish that my telephone conversations with certain people could be recorded, or just stored word-for-word in some corner of my brain, to be summoned on a rainy day. It would make it so easy to become insanely happy whenever I felt low, to turn the grumbling into chuckles and remember what I had, and hopefully, what I still can.

One such conversation happened this week with the best friend, who was attempting to get over her fear of public speaking by participating in an MUN (that makes one of us). Supportive friend that I am, I did my best to help.

Me: So, how's the prep going?
Nids: What prep?
Me: The MUN. It's tomorrow. You're still going, right?
Nids: Oh sure. I'm not preparing, though. I'm just going to sit there and blend in with the decor.
Me: Hmm, good plan. Still, just in case you feel differently tomorrow, maybe you should read a bit?
Nids: Umm. What?
Me: Let's see. So what do you know about New Zealand?
Nids: Mimblewimble.
Me: They've got forests there. It's really green. I think it's called the Emerald Isle. Oh no, wait, that's Ireland. I think.
Nids: You're helpful.
Me: The capital is Auckland. Hee.
Nids: oh yes, that's right...
Me: *thinking spree* I wonder how it got the name New Zealand. Thoughts?
Nids: Yeah. Once upon a time, there was a land of zeas and...
Me: No, I mean whatever happened to Old Zealand?
Nids: Died?
Me: HAHAHA
Nids: HEHEHE
Me: So it's got forests...
Nids: And animals...
Me: Wow, you're a genius.
Nids: ...koalas...
Me: No, that's Australia.
Nids: They could've migrated!
Me: Yeah, Australia is close by.
Nids: And a cricket team!
Me: And kiwi!
Nids: ...with really nice uniforms...

*sigh* I think she did okay, though.

And I obviously took some creative license since I don't have the word-for-word storage yet. But you get the drift.

Questor

2010-09-12T16:14:00.005+01:00

Sometime last week, as I stared aimlessly at the computer screen, I decided to take an online career/aptitude test. Out of the blue. I didn't expect it would be accurate, let alone help much, but it was one of those moments when I felt utterly defeated and directionless. Since that is a feeling I have more or less learned to live with, I don't know why that idea struck at that particular time, but it did. And, I figured, I have nothing to lose.

The test was difficult, and though I tried hard to give honest answers, mostly I just felt like hitting the person who had made it on the head. I think that was the point. Anyway. I clicked the answer to the last of the 60 questions and waited (yes, with bated breath, for some reason) for the result.

Questor.
Introverted, intuitive, feeling, perceiving.
1% of the total population.

It's not like I was about to take the results of an online test as my life's mantra, but I was quite thrown by how accurate it turned out to be. And no, it didn't particularly help (of about 20 career choices listed, most of them are exciting. And here I thought I could narrow it down.)

Questor. I like that word. It seems to...fit. I've always been one of those people who are interested in too many things, and wonder if there might be many others that they've never tried. And want to. I've wondered whether everyone has a calling, and what mine could be. How do you know if you have a calling? What if your calling lies in a place you haven't visited yet?

Questor. I know some people who have known what they want to do, forever. I guess they're lucky. They have an end to sail towards. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. I used to try really hard to make up my mind about a career. I can't remember how many times. In fifth grade, I wanted to be a dancer. At some point, housewife figured too. Curiouser and curiouser. Teacher? Doctor? Geneticist? Researcher? Most of the high school years were spent fantasizing about microscopes and lab coats. The fantasy wasn't very vivid.

Then the U-turn. Literature. Arts. The love of my life that had paraded in front of my eyes for years, and I didn't see. I rebelled, oh yes. But it won me over in the end. Now I find it hard to imagine why I had even thought about mixing chemicals in a lab.

And here I am, at a crossroads again. So many paths diverge in this wood. Making up my mind isn't easy. This year is my year. To experiment, to do what I've been holding off, to breathe, to choose, to live, to be. And there's no hurry. There shouldn't be. I won't choose blindly and then lament about the road not taken. I don't have an India to discover, but maybe a round trip circling the earth isn't such a waste of time, either. So what if there's no end to sail towards? I'm content just roaming the seas.

A straight road is very well, but there's something so romantic about not knowing where you want to go, how you want to end up. It makes you flexible, it allows you to take detours, and who knows what you'll discover. Maybe another India, or maybe yourself.

It's all in the journey. No light at the end of the tunnel that beckons, but each step illuminated along the way. Equally. Fireflies. So many directions to investigate, so many opportunities to explore, so many ways to spread out and diversify. So many reasons to wander.

Not all who wander are aimless.

Cushioned

2010-09-03T18:34:00.003+01:00

India is truly a land of diversity.

"A diversity of things is a range of things that are very different from each other."

I went to the mall yesterday. One of those big fancy ones that have cropped up all over Delhi. One of those big fancy ones where you can't figure out where you need to enter. Or exit. Or find anything. Where the people avoid each others' eyes and dress in branded clothes. Where they buy branded clothes.

Where a majority of our population cannot step in because they don't fit. Because they can't even afford a cup of coffee there.

I really miss the expanse of wasteland the used to stretch to the right of the Nelson Mandela road. When we used to drive, I used to look out at the lights on the other end. They seemed so far away, and yet it took merely ten minutes to get to them.

Now there are three bright malls to the right of the road which hurt my eyes with their gargantuan ad pictures and dazzling fountains. And beside them is a long line of workers' tents. They only entered the mall to build it. For people like us.

How is that fair?

Every day is a new discovery. Yesterday, someone told me it was his birthday. Janmashtmi. He was born on Janmashtmi, but he doesn't know the date on which he was born. This was a new concept for me. I couldn't comprehend a world where let alone celebrate your birthday, you don't even know when it is. He said that no one in his family, or the people he knows, know when their birthdays are. Humare yahaan koi maanta hi nahi hai. He's noted down the dates on which his children were born, though.

Next year, I hope he celebrates them. Although, maybe it isn't such a big deal. Life should be celebrated, but why only on one day in a year? Maybe it's nicer not to know. More spontaneity, lesser expectations. No excuse or occasion to celebrate, just a reason.

Two weeks ago, I, being hopelessly unaware of what goes on in the world, went for the National Peoples' Tribunal for Kandhamal. I read about what had happened there, what continues to happen. The loss, the injustice, the fear.

It's funny how cushioned we are. By our class, by our life. It's so easy to keep living like this without even knowing what some people have to face or live through, let alone care.

Before the Month Ends...

2010-08-31T17:01:00.005+01:00

...I must post! Therefore bringing up the post count for August up to...two. Hey, it was five the last two months! Five is cool! High five! Um.

I can't help but notice how blogging is soon becoming a thing of the past. Not just with me, but with everyone. Everyone who? you ask. Well, everyone everyone.

And clearly I am losing my ability to put together coherent sentences.

Work is good, although I never want to see paper again.

I got Nids hooked onto Gilmore Girls, yay!

One of my friends eats ten eggs a day. Please tell me that is not normal.

I miss the online writing course that just ended. I miss writing more.

Art appreciation is extremely fun! I am such a novice when it comes to art that I thought, hey, I'm free for a year, why not try it? Best decision ever. Even more so because I get to go to lectures with the best friend after, what, five years? It's so awesome peering into each others' notes and copying each others' (wrong) spellings and making fun of the stuffy aunties who sometimes ask questions that make me want to wring something. Plus, art is awesome. Hee.

And the brother has finally departed for foreign shores and I thought I'd miss him sososo much but now I get to use the fast computer so I'm okay.

Yeah, I need to get my priorities sorted.

No, I'm not insensitive. Ask him how many "miss you"s I've sent him.

Also, I came across this yesterday. Ohmygodthisislove.

Have a nice September!

August Rush

2010-08-21T19:41:00.003+01:00

Wow, August has been one crazy month! Sadly, the blog has suffered; we have fallen a long way from five posts a month to nil. Ah well. A lot of the craziness this month has been owing to the fact that we are soon going to be one family member short, and the parents are being mean to me for no reason and forbidding me from having a life. And no, I am not that one family member. Which makes it so much worse.

The opening weekend of this month was spent in Neemrana, and you should read about it here, on this poor blog that has been deserted by all and sundry. The internet has also been quite a bitch, owning (apparently) to the digging up of cable lines along with the roadside components for the CWG, which are a whole different story (really, read this article. Some of your 'hate' may vanish). But ooh, I'd like to watch the CWG! Does anyone know where to get cheap tickets? Or better, does anyone know if security will really be as tight as they're making it out to be? Shame those mega-crore-costing potted plants aren't going to be there, or I could've hidden in them, biding my time.

Online writing class is nearly done, and art appreciation classes have begun. Attempts at resurrecting my volunteer status at the namesake NGO are also being made, without much success owing to aforementioned parent troubles. Can you be passed over for promotion if you're a volunteer? Because I just was. Sniff. I also got bullied into joining a youth forum (well, not quite) which ensured a few trips to good ol' North Campus. And transcription is fun. Try it sometime, pays well, apparently. Sam Phillips and XTC are great artistes, and The Great Dictator is a movie that everyone must watch for their own good. The Dead Famous series is a fine investment, and Lolita is kind of creepy. So far. Very lyrical writing, though. Which very possibly makes it more creepy.

But wait, why do you care?

Vanilla, Aye

2010-07-27T16:29:00.003+01:00

Whenever someone asks me my favorite color, I say that I’m not sure, but it definitely isn’t black. People will insist on calling me a ‘pink’, to my increasing irritation - I’ve done nothing to warrant it. As I sat musing over my breakfast today, I realised that it was white that I wanted to be. Not a white that’s boring or bare, but the white that goes with the scent of a lily. The white of the first snowflake, that I’ve craved to see for as long as I can remember. The white of moonshine on a dark night.

The white that’s pristine and soulful, the color of a bride’s dress and the clothes at a funeral: the white of a beginning and an end, of joy and of sorrow. The white of my country’s flag, the path to truth and knowledge, the color of light, the merging of all colors.

I want to be as white as a new wall that awaits the strokes of a painter to cover it with a new picture. I want to be as white as the blank page on which a new beginning is scripted. White is all colors, and lets me choose the color I want to be. White is the color of possibility.

zemni.deviantart.com

(Ex)Terminating Termites and Other Stuff

2010-07-20T13:52:00.007+01:00

Rory: Ugh, I feel like they're crawling all over me.
Lorelai: Ugh, I know, with their creepy little fangy teeth and their tail things and their pointy tentacles.
Rory: You have no idea what a termite looks like, do you?

Ah well, neither do I. I tried looking at them but I need new glasses. I also tried looking for them on Google (for mom, I have a life) but the pictures of various creatures that I don't think were termites made me queasy. So there we are. But on the bright side, hopefully I never will have to see them or know what they look like, because they have been exterminated. Finally. After weeks of fretting and feeling creepy and exterminatoritis and emptying cupboards and loading cartons and loud drilling noises and foul-smelling chemicals, they are gone. Ha. From this house at least. Might have to see them again someday in the gorgeous villa in Tuscany that I plan to own, but maybe I can scare them away. And yes, the Tuscany choice was totally random. But what do you know.

It hasn't been a bad few days. Watched some musicals, some movies, a LOT of Gilmore Girls. Ah, the addiction is back. Obsessive downloads and hours in front of the screen and witty women and eye-candy men. Good times. Also getting some writing done, thanks mostly to the online fiction writing class I've recently started on. Still not getting that much reading done. I got around to putting my books back into the cupboards after unpacking yesterday, and to my horror, there is a whole row of unread books just sitting there morosely. Argh.

Emptying your house after six long years of living there is no cakewalk. Especially if you happen to collect junk like I do. I think I've mentioned this before. I have stamp collections, tazos, birthday cards from my first birthday until my twenty-first (and counting), wedding cards, blank notebooks, used notebooks, pieces of colored card and paper and ribbons and...okay, I did throw out a lot of stuff. Not most of it, but still. And I have no idea why I have so many wedding cards. Guess they're pretty. But as I mentioned in that post, there's nothing like discovering old, forgotten stuff at the back of some cupboard and reliving all those memories again. Possibly why the emptying process took me so long in the first place. My junk is like my treasure trove. And I find uses for it. And besides, it's my legacy. A legacy of junk doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, since we're not going to have photo albums or cassettes or diaries to leave behind, I'd rather leave this than DVDs. Although I have photo albums and cassettes and diaries. But still. Um, hope I made my point. Junk is good.

A Goodbye Note

2010-07-12T21:34:00.001+01:00

On the (locked) door of flat number 7186:

So your team lost. It's the World cup, not the end of the world. You're still a little boy, throwing fits every time things don't go your way...all your rages, moods, all the broken remotes and vases and phones. I'm through. Through with you lolling on the couch, utterly useless. Calling yourself an artist, that's your excuse for everything, isn't it? The money you never get, the lack of responsibility towards what you call 'worldly things', the impulsive chase hoping that something, someone will give you your lucky break. And I just sit back and pity you and give you whatever you ask for...but no longer. That TV, you begged me for it, you knew we couldn't afford it but you begged. You're so good at begging - that's something you might want to remember - I can't believe you made me spend my hard earned money on that and broke it like...like it was just one other thing you didn't care about. Because your team lost. I can't believe you did that. It didn't even last a fortnight...though that's longer than your attempts at writing that novel do, isn't it? It can be repaired, you say...but this, this relationship, whatever the hell it is, can never be repaired.

Your stuff is at Sid's. I'm on holiday, and you're moving out. Don't worry - not that you would - I didn't have much trouble moving it. There wasn't much...that wasn't broken.

Everything you need to know about...

2010-07-10T17:28:00.009+01:00

Octopi. Octopusses. Octopussies. Shit.

I feel like I have to write about a topic that has caused me agony as well as giggling fits for the past few days. So here goes:

They're supposedly extremely smart, possibly the most intelligent of all invertebrates.

They are poisonous.

They are masters of camouflage and fleeing from danger. They also expel ink. (How cool!)

They now have a celebrity called Paul, the "psychic". Often referred to as the 'tentacled tipster' *guffaw*, he's a football fan. Born in England, the Germans have claimed him for their own and he currently resides in Oberhausen. He is famous for having predicted all-but-one of Germany's Euro Cup matches, and all of their World Cup matches correctly.

Don't know which language he speaks, but bidders and betters have been trying to master "Octopussese" to win. On his Facebook, though, he thanks people in German and Spanish.

Yes, he has a Facebook page. And he updates his status to stuff like "Don't hate me, I'm only tellin' it like it is". You know the world is revolving in the opposite direction when octopuses have their own Facebook pages. [click on the image!]

I'm no animal hater, but in my defense, when his prediction of Germany's semifinal loss came true, I wished him a natural death (strangulation by his own tentacles). as opposed to Argentine/German threats of frying him in garlic butter. Of course, I had my reasons (I hate seafood).

He has now graduated to predicting matches that don't involve Germany. Spain loves him, Spain wants to buy him, Spanish restaurants have taken octopuses off their menus, Spain want's to rename him "Pablo", Spain will be sending him red roses on Valentine's Day.

But for those who hate him for predicting a Spanish win tomorrow, there's always consolation in the form of Mani the Parakeet. He doesn't have as many fans. Yet.

So, who do we believe in? [click image and READ what's under the profile photo]

All the fun has gone outta football. We should just let the Wise Ones do their stuff, and the players can go party.

Of Weekends and Oracles and Rain and Books and Football and Facebook

2010-07-07T16:32:00.002+01:00

Uhm, so what do I write about first?

This weekend was fun! An MUN meant that I finally met a whole bunch of friends after ages, and we spent time doing what we love: gossip. Scandal and secrets aplenty, it was kind of difficult to remember who you were supposed to talk to, and who to ignore. Many of the usual faces were missing, but the important ones were around :) Work was hectic, complete with the usual late deadlines, panic attacks, sky high tempers, and yes, yet again, the unforeseeable technical glitches that threatened to ruin it all. I am yet to attend an MUN where I will be spared that last-issue-broken-printer situation. But yet again, we managed to rescue it. And though I have announced to all and sundry that this is going to be my last MUN, you just never know. They're tempting. And satisfying. And there's something so heavenly about seeing smartly dressed menfolk in their crisp suits as opposed to the usual messy hair-and-chappal look, ha!

The "sleepover" we planned was an epic fail, and we ended up returning home Saturday night rather than sitting there watching movies. I even ended up missing the uber-awesome Germany-Argentina 4-0 QF. Though my delight knew no bounds when I heard of the win and I wholeheartedly rejoiced in writing "HAHAHA" on the walls of Argentina-lovers who had claimed Germany didn't have a chance. I supported Germany through the WC, by the way, and didn't switch over to Argentina or Brazil despite the presence of Messi and Kaka, who now I don't find all that awesome anyway. I'm all for them German lads! Though why they had to bring Paul-the-octopus into the picture is beyond me. He's predicted a loss for them tonight, BUT he (a) sat on Germany first (b) has been wrong only once before, and that too about Spain (c) might have decided to change it's mind and sit on the losing team this time (d) is a sea creature who probably liked the look of the food in the Spain container more than the other. So. I'm not thinking about this at all. :S

Wish someone could read his future and tell us if he's going to be wrong!
The monsoons are here! Rejoice! I was afraid this year they might not make a guest appearance at all. I'm really not a rain person (though a week in Manipal has taught me to treat them with indifference) but there's something about such weather that makes me more active and excited and refreshed. I still wake up at 12 and loll around all day, of course, but there's a lot less grumbling involved. Nids already wrote about the new season and why she's going to miss summer, but I don't feel nostalgic yet. I think I like every season, and no season. Change, I believe in! While you're there, also check out what Nids and I think about books and share your philosophy (here, or there). Ooh also, I'm starting an online writing course that I hope will help me grow (hee) and break my streak of uselessness. Yeah, this was random.

And, to end on a warning note, please don't leave hearts and "I love you"s and "You mean so much to me"s on each others walls. Or get your bail money ready.

Newer and Older

2010-06-29T19:37:00.005+01:00

I was supposed to write this the day after my birthday, but procrastination and hard work prevented me. Yes, I'm aware that that is paradoxical.

So guess who turned 21 5 last Monday? Moi. Fun birthday and all, though I was a bit miffed that no one thought of balloons and streamers and party hats. Five year olds like stuff like that. The heat played spoilsport, of course, and so did the termites. But that's another story. Me, Nids, Fawkes and Wetdiamond had a fun afternoon of chatter, photos, iced teas, making fun of the adolescent boys at the next table, cold coffees, lewd jokes, pastas, dressing rooms, dresses, shoes, cranberry juice, and a surprise specially-baked-for-me birthday cake with snowy frosting and gems and everything (baked by the best friend herself)! And presents, of course. Mostly for the reader in me. Which is currently hiding deep, deep down somewhere. Ah well.

Too bad birthdays just last for a day. But cake, fortunately, lasts for a lot more. And TWO cakes for even more. I finished the last piece today, sniff. But the weekend might bring me some more :)

Aaaaaaaaand, I finally tired of pink. The color, not the person (haha!). People seem to uncannily associate me with that color, for some unfathomable reason. Maybe it's because I have a lot of pink stuff, but it's still very unfair. For now, I am blue.

Though I shall miss thee frightfully, o faithful pink template!

Pot Pourri

2010-06-19T19:03:00.006+01:00

It's funny what a couple of days without the internet will do to you. Like make you forget a blog post you had ready and written down in your head.

And turn you into a football addict.

So I did start reading the newspaper again, and the World Cup is hard to miss. Even so, juat two days ago, I was telling Nids how football is so boring (I didn't want to risk putting it up as my status on FB because that's scary. Honestly, there's no need to read the paper for football news, Facebook tells all) and for now, so is tennis (Wimbledon soon! Starting on my birthday, in fact. My birthday is such an awesome day, because, well, it's my birthday. But also because it's the summer solstice and World Music Day, which is such a cool Day..um..for it to be. Okay.) We were discussing how Quidditch is so awesome in comparison. Too bad it isn't real. So anyway, the point is, in the absence of the internet I watched two football matches from start to finish voluntarily yesterday, with the moaning and air punching and cussing and all.

Argh, I'm turning into a guy!

Ooh, but I also got a haircut. So it's okay.

I'm definitely turning into a stereotypist. Is that a word?

I really hope Germany wins. I decided to support them because we have things in common. Plus they'd beaten Australia 4-0 so it seemed like a good bet. Now I'm starting to think that supporting Brazil or Argentina might prove more fruitful. And they have Kaka and Messi, respectively, while Germany has no eye-candy. Hmm.

A couple of months ago, Nids asked me to wiki "Russ", and I did, despite being suspicious (strange pale black-haired boys came to mind for some reason). But recently I saw my friend's photographs from a Swedish high school graduation, and gosh, our two-hour balloon-and-compulsory-photo-with-everyone ritual seems so pathetic! I want to circle the city, waving from a truck!Today was Spanish Day or "Dia del Espanol" at Instituto Cervantes. After seriously considering renting a friend, bro decided he would accompany me after all. We ended up reaching after (all of) the free Latino dance workshops, (most of) the food, and (pretty much) everything else was over. I did, however, meet my classmate, and it felt like old times making fun of all the strange people present. Hee. Okay, pathetic, yes. During a (lame) game in which you had to say the Latin-American-Spanish version of a European-Spanish word (or something), a group of Spanish people asked us if the askers of the questions thought that the two regions spoke different Spanish, 'coz they so didn't. Another guy behind us said he was Latin American and he wanted a "geeft" and I wondered why he didn't just play it and win easy. But I think the person who was asking the questions didn't speak Spanish too well, because he just looked upset and walked away, and when we tried to ask the Spanish group to tell us the answers, they had no clue and said that it might be a different Spanish after all. Heh.

The cafe informed us that they were "finished" when we went back up, ravenous. But I did get to eat a bite of Spanish Milk Cake, which was utterly delicious and pissed me off even further because I wanted to eat a LOT more. Boo.

We're nothing but a pack of neurons.

2010-06-13T13:06:00.003+01:00

In order to keep my grey cells from rotting, I've been studying. Yep, studying. German entrance beckons, but no progress there yet.

I've been studying psychology.

If there's one subject I regret never having studied, this would be it. I've always had an inkling that I'd love it if I got that opportunity, but I never did find out. But thanks to the Yale Open Courses, I get to listen to classroom lectures right here in my room. Awesome, or what? I discovered these courses last December, and have since then developed crushes on Yale professors and Yale itself. It is somuchfun! If I'd had the chance to study there, you would probably have to drag me out of the lecture halls because I don't think I'd ever walk out willingly. Now this is usually where I'd begin this whole "I-hate-my-life" crib-fest and blame parents and everyone in general for messing up my US chances, but in the last six months I have ~~matured~~ come to realise that I needed a reality check all along and I didn't actually have even a one-in-a-millionth chance of actually making it to a good college there, so luckily you shall be spared all that. To quote the wise Lorelai Gilmore, I just took a detour and ended up someplace good.

So anyway, psychology. I've only got as far as the second lec in the term but I love it already. This was a lecture on the brain, and of course since school was useless I don't remember much biology, though certain words did trigger vague recollections. I am totally putting my kids, if I ever have any of those, in an ICSE school. Or IB. Or maybe I'll just homeschool them and teach them myself, because by then I will hopefully have digested Yale lectures on many subjects.
I wonder how you cure Attention Deficit Disorder. If I'd had psych as a subject, I might have known. These are things you really need to know to get through life, hmph.

Yeah, so back to the brain. Isn't it hard to believe that that tiny squishy lump actually makes us capable of feeling and thinking and acting? Descartes refused to believe it could be responsible for all of that, because it just freakin' didn't seem possible. We can't, of course, choose to believe that anymore, not with all the scientific evidence that claims to assign all our feelings and reactions to a huge bunch of neurons. The physicality of the brain is something we can't deny, when we know that damage to a certain part corresponds to a change in the ways we behave. But what still remains a mystery is that we can't explain how or why every brain said to be made up of the same units behaves and reacts so differently. Try as we might to make machines that reproduce the brain, that can think and perform things we never would have thought were imaginable, feelings are inexplicable. Every computer acts in the same way. You can't explain the nervous system arithmatically, there are no set permutations and combinations, and that's what makes it so wonderful.

And I'm fine with not knowing. Because we don't need answers to everything.

And it's seriously scary to think about how machines are taking over our life. The time seems close when we will be confronted with a "Metropolis" or "I, Robot" situation, a nightmare that we won't be able to wake from. If the brain can be figured out, it can be recreated. Argh.
But until then, I have my stupid computer to worry about. It is ruining my life, bleh. And I actually suspect it might have emotions because it promptly faints or becomes otherwise troublesome when I abuse it, but so be it. I just read an article in the paper about how people are not reading anymore, and this is nothing new, except that I'm now ONE OF THEM. *panics*

Checklist:

- start writing regularly again: Check.
- read the newspaper everyday like you once used to: Check.
- close the Facebook tab in your browser: *fingers twitch uneasily but are conquered* CHECK.
- devour books again: I'm on it. (Note to self: Record progress in a week)

Feel free to chastise me.

Also, will the brain beat the machine? Or will it be the other way round? :O

Getting Ahead

2010-06-09T15:33:00.006+01:00

I noticed that my June calendar is nearly filled out. Already. Hmm, this is different. I mean, it is the birthday month and all, but a few empty spaces wouldn't hurt! And here I go again, teetering on the see-saw that won't let me decide whether I most enjoy being lolling-on-the-couch jobless, or can't-catch-a-breath busy. Methinks it'd be nice to have someone to balance it out, for a change.

I've been catching up with the Blogosphere today, being one of the few days in the past couple of weeks that I haven't had to venture out. It's strange how all of us, and you all know who I mean, were crazy about our blogs three years ago and couldn't wait to tell the world what we'd been up to, and now we have ever so many posts beginning or ending with the "I'll be more regular" promise. The archive betrays the steady exponential decrease and makes me wonder why we've made ourselves too busy to stop and ~~think~~ blog. June resolutions, anyone? I think Lemon's 30-day experiment might be a bit too much for me to handle, but I hope to be able to change the dismal monthly numbers for good.

The Eco Festival turned out to be quite memorable, with the hard work of the last fortnight falling right into place. In the first week of June, we practically lived in the American Center, complete with crazy security, air conditioning, and a lot of complaining. Manning the reception is quite overrated and grouchy, what with all the fake smiles and creepy old men trying to make conversation. Karan kindly offered to let me read his Irish play by Synge (though he'll claim it's written by DH Lawrence or GB Shaw in turns) but I was quite bemused when I realised he wanted me to read it aloud with him in a tragic voice and all. The evening's jazz fusion concert by HFT was breathtaking, and also rather apt, with a rebellious number called "Parking Space" stealing the laughs.

But the best part of the two days was easily the dance workshop, which turned into a volunteers' party as they found the perfect legal way of neglecting their duties for two hours. Jumping around, chasing each other across the room and pretending it was all dance was no mean feat. And the partner exercises were annoying because you had to fall on your partner and owing to my (misleading) tiny appearance, no one wanted to fall on me. After a lot of persuasion I convinced the partner, and no, I did NOT let him (fall) down. So there.

The fest was rounded off by an enchanting little puppet-theatre performance called "The Little Blue Planet", which was unlike any of those street puppet shows I've seen as a kid. I think the adults enjoyed it more than the children did, judging from all the hooting that ensued when it ended, and the (volunteers') crazy rush to shake hands with the puppet. Ah well, it brought out the child in all of us, I suppose.

All in all, I'm glad I didn't turn around despite the zillion times I was sorely tempted to. :)

June

2010-06-01T20:25:00.003+01:00

Just one day gone, and what a day it was. Long, challenging, requiring every ounce of self control, and yet not all bad. Ordinary, and yet so not. Started with going to work as usual, but a lot of laughter before it actually started. That should have been an omen.

A lot of cribbing and some photos later, we were back on track. I think what kept me going was the thought of meeting one of my best friends later in the evening, but little did I know that what should have been a ten minute route would end up taking an hour. That could have been an omen.

Still, it was all taken into stride. The seemingly never-ending car journey did have a destination, and it was fun, meanwhile, to abuse the road signs, traffic police and GK-II in general. I got a happy twenty minutes at the friend's place, borrowed half her wardrobe, and the brother got a jump-with-joy admission offer. But then Federer lost and waves of tiredness crashed over me and all the world was grim. And none of this compared even remotely to the news of a good friend leaving for another city early the next morning. Because though I should have been insanely happy for him, I was sad. Sad because I hadn't met him in years even though he lived right across the street. Sad because I'd put off meeting him for later, always. Because other things became to important, and they shouldn't have been. Because I made myself too busy to make the effort. Because, somehow, I never thought he might just leave. And I should have.

I had a dream last night that we did meet, and it felt so real. That was an omen. Unfortunately, it was the wrong kind.

Playboy Editorial

2010-05-30T16:48:00.002+01:00

Anyway.

So now that people are starting to politely inform me that I have no life because I don't update my blog, I decided I would. Though how the two notions are linked is something I fail to fathom.

Okay, fine. I have no life. Happy? To be honest, I've been meaning to write a LOT, but writer's block kicks in at the worst of times. For two weeks after the exams, I lay all over the house in drudgery, cursing the weather and my luck rather frequently, and driving everyone, including myself, ballistic. A cancelled trip and cancelled internship later, I was ready to howl. And then Kriti happened.

Wait, what?

It's okay, I didn't mis-type that. I was thinking of titling this post "When Kriti met Kriti" or something equally lame, but this title is way more fun (hai na, Prateek?). But yes, I have identity-crisis issues. I'll be helpful and enlighten you, yes.

So I've been volunteering at an organization called KRITI (henceforth written, both here and in my head, in ALL CAPS, to avoid madness). When I first told people about it, there were the usual "Hello, Kriti from Kriti. You'll drive yourself nutty", "why don't you sue them for using your name?" and "lulz" (we all know who THAT was). But it didn't end there; the confusion continues, and while some people are somewhat flattering and mistake me to be the founder of the team, others are somewhat imaginative and have theories involving me being the retarded younger sister after whom it was named. And they even told me they'd thought that. True story.

But two weeks into work, despite all the challenging mind games (hmph), it looks like KRITI is here to stay. I mean, Kriti is here to stay. No, wait...URGH, it just doesn't get easier!

While we're at it, please come to our Eco Festival next weekend or participate in the competition! Please! Pretty please! It's going to be so awesome and you can show you love the earth and make your eco-footprint and yes, I'm in-charge of publicity. :)

But, seriously, come. If nothing else tempts you, I'm going to be there. In the flesh and blood. You can all take my autograph. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Seriously.

Ciao!

Three

2010-05-14T15:11:00.003+01:00

Three is a special number.

It's a complete number. Three dots to make a triangle. Three to determine a circle.

Three makes the holy trinity.

Three primary colors.

Three dimensions.

Three wishes in a fairytale world.

Three is the number of years I've been blogging. And if three is the number of years you've stuck around with me, you are special. Because three is a special number. Thank you.

And if three isn't the number of years you've stuck around, thank you as well. For being here now. For a new journey.

For three is when things begin.

One. Two. Three.

Boy-Type Persons

2010-04-16T18:48:00.009+01:00

It has been SO long since I had a crush. No, really. I refused to date in school, and I thought college would give me ample opportunities. Little did I know I'd end up in a college where there were no boys, rather than the healthy dating place I'd envisioned.

Anyway, as I was saying, it has been SO long since I had a crush on someone that wasn't...well, famous or fictitious. Bah, humbug. The world could really do with more awesome guys. Or less demanding girls, I suppose. Either way, currently I have exams which make the universe so much more frustrating than it actually is. So I'm in no mood to write much...but as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. Here are a few- of my current favorite boy-type persons . In random order.

1. Tim Urban: is soooo cute. No, really. And he croons and plays the guitar and was born in the summer of '89, which (and Nids agrees) automatically entitles him to awesomeness. He's one of the 7 finalists in Season 9 of American Idol, which I totally never watch by the way. But one fateful afternoon, as I was lolling on the sofa flipping channels (I should've been studying but what the heck) I was stopped short by him singing "All My Loving", and resulting in me attempting to seriously make the effort to hunt for Beatles songs online and I think I may actually like them. Whew, long sentence. But anyway, his smile. Just. Does it.

2. Adam Young: of the velvet voice and unmatched wit. And music that I can completely connect with and the most creative, alliterative, rhyming lyrics ever. 'Nuff said.

3. Rupert Friend in The Young Victoria: Yes, that's right, me and Bab went to a cinema hall to watch this film. Get over it. It was fun, there being only about 6 people who had the same idea (or not quite) and left us at liberty to sit on whichever plush purple seat we wanted to. I love purple halls, by the way- so much better than red or (one unforgettable time) tiger-striped. Urgh. Anyway, purple totally fit this movie, and we oooh-ed and aaah-ed and sang along to German songs (well, i did) (or tried to) and just geeked in general.

But I digress.

Rupert Friend a.k.a Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, who has the prettiest eyes and smile and can totally rock Victorian attire.

4. Hugh Dancy: So exams make me watch movies that I don't much like gazillion times till I actually end up liking them. Like Confessions of a Shopaholic, for instance. No comments on Isla Fisher's wardrobe, but otherwise it's quite fun. And Hugh Dancy's character = adorable*(flopsy hair+ Brit accent+laugh+smile+attitude) = ? Oh, do the math. Perfect boss and boyfriend. Boo.

Anyway. Keats beckons.

Twitterature: The End of an Era?

2010-04-06T17:25:00.004+01:00

Introducing Twitterature: The World's Greatest Books Retold Through Twitter by UChicago students Alexander Aciman and Emmett Rensin, published by the eminent Penguin Books label. When I first read about this book in a 'new books' feature in the paper, I expected not a...well, classic...but atleast a fun read, complete with wit and intelligent puns. What I got instead was a load of ~~school~~ college boy humour involving tons of sexual - well, it can hardly be called innuendo, for that would point to some little subtlety at least - so, sexual 'references', and a pile of four letter swear words that are repetitive and very non-creative at best. If anything, the book at least managed to reinforce my belief that nothing good could ever come of anything Twitter. As I've constantly maintained, I think Twitter is just another platform for attention-seekers and is rather pointless. The fact that it's now being used for other more "useful" purposes like companies keeping clients involved or whatever is only because of the large ~~fan~~ user base that it has garnered - which can hardly be a testimony to its credentials, for we all know that if something is considered 'fashionable', it catches like the plague. In a world where communication is fast becoming a thing of the past, I hardly think challenging people to write perfect 140-character sentences - and I am open to discussions on this topic - serves any purpose.

So what is the fuss all about? This hilarious article by Emmett Rensin talks about how this revolutionary book has brought about an end to the Western Civilisation as we know it - satire, yes, you guessed it. What started out as a joke between two friends at university assumed humungous proportions when people began to fret about how it was going to change the world of literature forever. Some people really need to relax. This book was not meant to be used as a study guide to pass exams or to replace the original - if you're not already familiar with the story, trust me, you're not going to be. It's just supposed to be a huge joke. The point is, I really don't find it funny. Throughout the 133 pages of "tweets" I must have grinned about 10-odd times and laughed not even once. They seem to have gone for easy, cliched and often rather boisterous jokes than actually trying to parody the stories.

Consider, for instance, in Frankenstein:
"Jeez, this monster is killing people. Wonder if this will be more professionally embarrassing than getting caught with a black hooker?"
or
"This killing is getting way out of control. You know, like a mistress you can't shut up?"

Very mature.

The biggest disappointment for me, personally, was Homer's Iliad. Much as I love it, I enjoy watching and reading adaptations and spoofs on it - it has SO much potential for hilarity. If you're really looking for laughs, try this for an *amazing* spoof of the Brad Pitt starring (excuse of a) movie Troy.

The glossary was supposedly brilliant according to some reviews but after repeated references to f*cking someone's wife/neighbour/sister/mother that manage to creep into every definition, it becomes quite a drag. I mean, sex jokes are only funny so many times.

Anyway, apart from the fact that whole world seems to find it hilarious and the work of a genius (I've read countless comments to countless reviews) there are only a few people who seem to think that the joke is on Twitter itself. Will Hammond (editor at Viking) says that while the book relies on the mockery of the grandiose character and plot oddities and cliches of these 'classics', "the difference, though, and what makes this little collection particularly enjoyable, is that the joke falls just as heavily (well, probably more so) on Twitter. In a face-off between Shakespeare's Macbeth and his Twitter avatar 'BigMac', it's fairly clear who comes off looking worse. So, in a curious way, Twitterature is just as much a celebration of the classics as it is a mockery of them." Interesting view, and not one that many seem to have grasped - with little blame to them - it's rather well-concealed. However, although I wouldn't go so far as to call the authors the Swifts of our time (read this) - I think the whole point lies in the definition of Twitter given in the introduction: "the social networking tool that with its limit of 140 characters a post (including spaces) has refined to its purest form the instant-publishing, short-attention-span, all-digital-all-the-time, self-important age of info-deluge", and their claim to give us everything we need to master the literature of the civilised world. You can't miss the huge mocking grin behind these statements.

So I'll agree with certain individuals in maintaining that Twitterature is a good enough idea - poorly executed.

I really don't think we need to worry. Yet.

Conquering Fear, and How.

2010-03-22T16:52:00.003Z

Today I conquered one of my very irrational fears, and I feel rather delighted with myself.

Come to think of it, are fears ever rational? Hmm, I suppose if everyone fears something, it might be...um...fear-worthy. Mine aren't. But isn't it the BEST feeling ever, knowing that something you ran away from for so long turned out to be rather harmless after all?

Consider, for instance, this time in my life when I was inexplicably afraid of escalators. It started with suspicion (stairs that moved of their own accord, hello?) and got worked up into a paranoia of being swallowed into an unknown realm if the foot didn't leave on time. So I'd just take the stairs or elevator. Now, mom would probably indulge my fear (being terrified of them herself) but dad can never control himself from passing a snide remark when I display, what is according to him, immense stupidity. Knowing that I was desperate to go and study in the US and would do anything for it, he said I could never go abroad if I was afraid of something as routine as an escalator. Where this logic came from I never paused to think, for the next second I was escalating to glory and have never hesitated since. There's a chapter closed.

Our house has a cockroach infestation. There was this time when I was oh-so-afraid of cockroaches. Oh but wait, I still totally am. Though I have no problem now stamping them (well, the small ones) dead. With elan.

And then there was this unforgettable time when I fainted in bio lab when we had to make a slide of our own blood. Wow, no wonder I'm called Bella. But, in my defense, I'm only averagely afraid of blood and needles. See, it all started with the teacher giving us a demonstration of how to do it, and her finger refused to stop bleeding after that and kept issuing copious amounts of blood onto a tissue. That was unsettling and few people looked green. But the real irony is that I was going about like a little twit telling everyone not to be afraid because it was "just a drop of blood, for Chrissake". I was not so comfortable when the whole lab started smelling like a hospital and this guy who's all hale and hearty freaked out and made the teacher stick the needle into his finger because he was too scared to. Bravely, I attempted on my own finger, which for some reason must have decided it wasn't going to give up any blood at all; and, stab at it as I might, not a single drop came out. That was embarrassing. And then...well, I just passed out. That was even more embarrassing.

It took me forever to realize that just because I had been so afraid I actually fainted didn't mean I couldn't overcome that fear. The thing is, I didn't have forever. I had only until my biology pre-board. My teacher reckoned I could borrow blood (ew) but I was determined to not let a silly thing like my own finger get the better of me. And, drawing a deep breath, I succeeded. Oh boy, was the world a sunny place again. Not only did I get the top mark for that slide, but I also noticed that SO many other people were dead-scared of doing it (where on earth had they been before?) and I couldn't help smirking inside. Sadistic, I know. But what the hell.

Anyhoo. I shall try to be more regular here from now on - I mean, what better time to blog than during the countdown to the exams, eh? :)

Breathe...

2010-02-26T17:34:00.003Z

...And blog. Notes to self, yeah. So much has been happening of late that it seems like I'm always way over the speed limit. It's a sort of surreal feeling, like I'm living someone else's life...but at the same time, it's all so ordinary.

Twenty-ten has been an eclectic mix of work and experience, fun and laughter. And to think it's only been two months since it began! Would it be asking too much to hope that this has set the tone for the rest of the year? Because I'm about to take some chances. I once heard someone say that if you want big rewards from life, take big risks. Every time I can't make up my mind, these words float into my mind. And so far, they've done only good.

January was dull enough, till the much anticipated trip to Jaipur. Being the first proper trip I've ever been on with friends, I couldn't have asked for a better time. It seems as though we laughed enough to last us the whole year, and learned enough too! The Jaipur Literary Festival was a bookworm's delight, dizzying both my intellect and my camera. Calling it colorful would certainly be an understatement. Listening to eminent figures like Gulzar, Shabana Azmi and Wole Soyinka was enchanting and exhilarating. Add to it riveting French music (Titi Robin), lunch and dinner all over the city, a visit to Amer with a digital camera, and a bunch of giggly girls who exist on the same wavelength, and there you have it.

The weekend after was the LSR MUN, which I thought had been my best thus far. Sitting in the press room isn't half so bad when you have a co-editor who can complete your sentences, type your thoughts, sing your favorite old songs with you and babble in French. Glossy newsletters and an extravagant budget notwithstanding, the work this time gave me pride and satisfaction...and led to a major hollow hangover-ness. Which could only be cured, I was sure, by another MUN. And BITS Pilani beckoned.

Projects and parents stood in the way, friends canceled and ditched at the last minute, my mind bordered on despair and my Facebook status read "crash". But, as a wise senior and former co-editor put it, who was I to doubt the desires of Fate? Everything fell into place once I nodded my head (did I click my fingers too?) and I found myself sleep-deprived and a little lonely amongst a sea of familiar faces, in a broken-down, (one) window pane-less bus headed to the desert.

Arriving at 2.30 am in a strange land can be disconcerting enough but there's nothing a warm hug from an old friend won't cure. That night, as my head hit the pillow for a few hours of snatched sleep in my friend's room, I knew that tiredness was making me pessimistic. And I wasn't sure the risk was going to be worth it. But the next three days were two more than I needed to reassure myself. Who knew that (not) working could be so much fun when you didn't have deadlines or curfews? I tasted, smelt, drank the freedom; for three days were all I had.
And now that it's over, life seems rather colorless. Even as the fun continues without me, I've removed myself from the after-party. I have things to do.

Jaipur, Part I

2010-01-28T10:41:00.002Z

The Scene: LSR, Wednesday 20th January 2010
The Characters: A, K, RS Ma'am

K: *holding on to A tightly* Go on, TURN! You can't turn me with you! I am strong! :)
RS Ma'am: A, so when are you all going to Jaipur?
A: *disentangle* Today ma'am! Come come! :>
RS Ma'am: :(
K: We're going to see Wole Soyinka and Jamaica Kincaid! *jump* *gloomy music foreshadowing dramatic irony*
RS Ma'am: :( Have fun!

The Scene: LSR Corridor, Wednesday 20th January 2010
The Characters: C, K

C: I'm going home now. Will see you at the bus station directly. Don't...um...tell A I still haven't packed.
K: Don't worry, I won't, promish. See you!

The Scene: Bikaner House, Wednesday 20th January 2010
The Characters: A, K, M, S

A: C isn't here yet! Why didn't you tell me she hadn't packed? *snarl*
K: *busted* Coz she told me not to?
Stray dog: *scamper, snap*
A: Aahhh! *kritishield*
K: LOL
Strange bystanders: LOL
C: *arrives* I forgot my iPod what am I gonna DOOOOO? *wail sob sulk*
A: Why didn't you tell me you hadn't packed?
K: I didn't say anything, honest.
C: M, I'm never telling you any secrets again. PS- I want the window seat.

The Scene: Bus to Jaipur, Wednesday 20th January 2010
The Characters: A, K, M, C, S
After having traded seats to get the last row to ourselves, we were comfily settled. Or as comfily as possible with a suitcase near ~~our~~ my feet.

A: *is high* What a phantasmagoric journey MJ said that word in class I love the world go to hell you Delhi suckas!!! *chortle*
S: Yay!
C: *windowstare*
K: Wai-wai, anyone?
A: Is it non-veg no thank you I suddenly believe in Saraswati won't eat non-veg today. *breathes*
C & S: We love you, K! Pass it here :)
M: *pointing* Ooh look this is where I used to live! :) PS- See my Bhutan-and-Leh photos.
K: *is jealous*

The Scene: Still on the bus, Wednesday 20th January 2010
The Characters: A, K, M, S, C and the people they've annoyed

A: *is still high* This is trip-Anhiti RAAA!
C: *is now quietly delighted*
S: *headbump* STUPID BUS TRIP ETC.
M & K: *are soul-sisters because they have been inexplicably telepathically saying the same things at the same time*
Strange guy wearing IIT Sweatshirt: Hey can you guys tell me which channel Different Strokes comes on? Heard you talking about it.
A, K, M, C, S: ......
K: Zee Cafe.
Strange guy wearing IIT Sweatshirt: kthnxbai.
K: I think the whole bus could hear us we were LOUD! O_o
A: Really, what was your first clue?

To be continued.

Snippets

2010-01-13T18:38:00.005Z

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

2009-12-30T18:07:00.005Z

So I just watched it. One good thing about taking a film appreciation course is the license it gives you to watch movies all the time. Hee. The movie was interesting to say the least. Kept me hooked and guessing. I enjoyed the music, the acting was brilliant (Cruz's Oscar was certainly well-deserved) and the cinematography and narrative style were pretty cool too. I think this was only my second Woody Allen film, the first being Match Point, which I quite detested. I don't understand why people liked it so much, if IMDb rankings be any standard. I mean, hello, the story was hardly unique and I was painfully bored most of the time. Plus it was a case of trying to fit in too much into too little time. The characters were were shallow at best, having no room to grow or develop- the story progressed too fast for that- and seemed to have no feeling at all. Good or evil, any kind; their actions seemed mechanical, calculating and cold throughout.
Anyway, I digress. Wrong movie.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona, on the other hand, was a totally different experience for me. I know people who've hated it, and some argue that the alternative and unconventional relationships and setups that the movie tries to advocate are, in fact, undercut with the ending which places both Vicky and Cristina back into convention. But I beg to differ. First of all, the story is complex- the whole three women-one man scenario would be difficult to untangle even if best friends, ex-wives and husbands weren't involved. The ending was quite a surprise, but looking back, it was the only solution that seemingly made sense. What I think the movie tried to parody was the whole cliched idea that many movies adopt as their tagline: one summer that changes life forever etc etc. This one showed that one summer is, well, exactly that- just one summer. After which you move on with your life. Vicky and Cristina both, in a way, go back to the lives they would have led had they not gone to Barcelona- Vicky with the marriage she had always planned, and Cristina still searching, only knowing what she didn't want. It is here that many people seem to feel let down by the ending.

However, I choose to see the summer and the end of it in a slightly different way. Both girls did have experiences that they take away. Vicky experienced spontaneity, desire, attraction that wasn't planned, though she didn't really know what to do with it. Besides, even if she had 'acted', she would have regretted it since she's really not the kind of person who'd be comfortable in a relationship as stormy as the one with Juan Antonio (and Maria Elena, who, let's face it, would not really let go easily. Unless she ended up killing herself. Or him.) So the only thing for her is to get out of it, and she realizes this with the surety and force of a gunshot.

Cristina, on the other hand, ever the open-minded, experimental one, is able to live with both Juan Antonio and Maria Elena rather happily for a while. However, society and convention never give up easily and she is haunted by reasons to leave. She has found her calling, her means of expression in photography, and this sustains her. That's what she had really lacked.

So I fail to see how the ending is manipulative: Vicky is admittedly going back to a relationship that won't satisfy her, and Cristina is still searching. Searching doesn't have to be a negative thing. Maybe one day, Vicky will get the courage to get out of her monotonous relationship, and Cristina will find love. But it's really not the movie's purpose to explore that. It talks about the present, not ever-afters. And it enforces in its tagline that life is the ultimate work of art- that you can't predict or explain.

...

2009-12-19T20:07:00.001Z

If only
Life could be wound
And unwound
Like the key beneath
The little black box
That shone, polished, mirrored,

Making music
Making the tiny plastic ballerinas
Dance to its tune.

Maybe...*

2009-12-11T18:16:00.002Z

Maybe memories are something that we need to learn to push away at times...you know, tie them up with a ribbon and shove them in a corner of our minds. They're there when we want to pull them out, but at least they're not scattered, floating, piercing every thought that dares play itself out on the screen in front of us.

Maybe moving doesn't have to be so forced, so mechanical, like being sucked into a whirlpool or being carried away like silt on a tide. Maybe it has to be a choice to pull up the anchor that holds you down just so you can feel the breeze in your hair. And enjoy the journey to the next port. Even wandering can lead you to gold mines.

Maybe life is like a piece of wood being scraped. It hurts, of course; even that paper-thin wood-shaving that falls to the ground, light as a feather, "trivial", is a part of the whole. But that sacrifice helps shape, carve, consolidate, smoothen the part that's left into something recognizable, stronger, more beautiful.

And of course, maybe these are all just "meringue"** words and theories. What do I know.

____
*A "response" to an article by a friend. And these are just thoughts, not necessarily those that I (always) believe.
**(Too much studying) Look Back in Anger by John Osborne. That dude had a way with words, oh yeah.

Obliviate

2009-11-23T16:37:00.004Z

Have you ever wanted to obliterate that painful memory that refuses to let go and threatens to drag you down with it into the murky waters of Limbo? That humiliating moment or fight or mistake or loss that prevents you from moving on? Have you ever wondered whether you would choose to press 'backspace', highlight the chosen sentences and hit 'delete', if you could? Have you ever just wanted to forget?

You might wonder where all this is coming from; and yes, I am quite hale and hearty (*tap tap tap on wood*), thank you for your concern. I just watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind last week, and have proceeded to interrogate (and really think) about the possibilities that are presented there. If Lacuna, Inc. actually existed, I am tempted to believe that it would enjoy a reasonable clientele. But I haven't managed to reach a satisfying enough answer to the question: would it be a good thing for humanity in general to be able to erase certain memories? Assuming of course that the procedure would be flawless and not garner any risk of accidentally causing you to, say, repeat tenth grade all over again.

What say you? (And do respond, all ye lazy bloggers. I know you're reading this. We could do with more discussions like this around here.)

As for the movie, it was quite unique and even enjoyable once I figured out what was going on. There are some really great film techniques and effects, and brilliant performances by the cast. I confess I quite like Jim Carey after watching this one :)

Time to Eat the Dog...

2009-11-01T10:12:00.006Z

...has, funnily enough, become a topic of debate. Following this article in The Times of India, my friend Roshni wrote:

An article titled “Your dog’s carbon footprint is twice that of SUV” (Oct 28), has me appalled not only at the literal implications of the suggestion that we should eat dogs, but also the politics behind comparing the carbon footprint of dogs with SUVs. It is nothing but a blatant defense of consumerism and a convenient way of taking away the responsibility of humans for the ecological crisis. It ratifies destructive consumerism by showing that we are not the only sources of carbon emissions in the biological world. When the developed countries are not ready to even acknowledge the climate threat, this provides an excuse to further ignore it. Why are we forgetting that it is not the dog that creates imbalance in the ecosystem and lives out of harmony with nature? We have no right to take away its right to exist for a problem that we humans have created ourselves. The dog does what it does to simply survive. Are the writers of this book (same title, by New Zealand architects, Brenda and Robert Vale, researchers from Wellington's Victoria University) implying that life is secondary to material luxuries? By their own logic, if the solution is to eat the dog to reduce its carbon footprint, shouldn’t humans be subject to the same? If we shouldn't keep pets (they even compared the carbon footprint of a goldfish to 2 cellphones!!), what right do we have to have children?

I find this article a motivation to believe literally what Swift suggested in his "Modest Proposal" - eat children to reduce poverty. He might have been bitterly sarcastic, but times show we are coming to a point when it might not be so. We will not stop our greed even if we have to eat every single edible thing on this planet.

In other "discussions", opinions vary. I found some worth mentioning:
From here: "So if you want to save the environment, skip the Prius and just eat Fido for dinner." (Sensitive, eh?)

"This is less about mulling over Fidoburgers, than having you feel better about your gas-guzzler."

And a very interesting discussion thread running here. Snippets:

Person 1: "Dogs are very cool. Some meathead in a designer hummer is not."

Person 2: "The point is they want one and you don't or they can afford one and you can't."

Person 1: "Any of you SUV rocket scientists read the article? The same ecological impact as driving 10,000 km (6,213 miles) a year in a 4.6 liter Land Cruiser.

A) 6,000 miles isn't diddly on the average SUV

B) BUILDING the unnecessary SUV puts the carbon footprint up there with all the dogs in new jersey.

C) for whoever it was back there, I could easily afford an SUV, nice big, new one as a matter of fact, but I drive the 93 Camry that I bought new used and intend to put a good 200,000 miles on it before it gives up the ghost.

I have no problem with SUVs for a decent reason. you need to drive a big Suburban because you are contractor, makes perfect sense. you want to be one of these Escalade driving accountants I see around town, who can't even parallel park the thing, stop running the planet into the ground for your ego and stop clogging up the highway with your lousy driving in a big machine.

Show me a farmer in a beat up Ford Ranger, hey I salute him. Show me some moron downtown at the bar in his immaculate Navigator with out a scratch on it, I don't give a damn how much its sales manager "wants" it, its an eco-crime.

Person 3: See, that used to be the beauty of the USA...you can have your opinion...hell, you can even express your opinion. But, if *I* wanted to buy what *I* wanted to buy...so fricking what?!

Person 1: "Yep, its true. Any idiot who wants to can crap up the planet here."

Gee, this thread has potential. Go read it for yourself. And do share your views too.

To You, With Love

2009-10-16T18:40:00.004+01:00

Ten thirty at night, and my moping was interrupted by the shrill sound of the telephone. I knew before it was answered that it was the call I'd been waiting for. She sounded sleepy, having just woken up--it was one o' clock in Durham, still, late by her standards--and didn't show the birthday enthusiasm yet. It would kick in soon, I was sure. I sat down cross-legged on the bed and settled myself comfortably for a long chat. Not that it had been long, not since we last talked (only yesterday), but it had been long in so many other ways. It's not everyday that you wish your best-friend-for-fifteen-years (or since "the beginning of time", as she put it) a happy twentieth, after all.

We dug up every memory we could find. And I was still thinking long after we'd hung up. From the first day we'd met when I walked into class I-A, the new girl, and was slightly intimidated by the intelligent, short-haired girl in the row next to me who could spell "shampoo" with ease, to the day we got to know we'd be going to the same college. I remembered our excited plans to become dancers when we grew up (something she accomplished, I might add) and go running off to the mountains to visit my grandparents. Our western music classes with Mr. Brown in the basement, when we'd cheerily sing anything from the Titanic soundtrack to Billy Boy. Our batik classes and the time she fooled the teacher into believing we were sisters so I wouldn't get into trouble. Our belief that making a wish on an eyelash would come true, and how we pulled out eyelashes to make more wishes. Our Barbie craze and our Harry Potter craze and our vampire craze. Birthday parties and frilly frocks and party hats. Hide and seek and chase. Hot chocolate fudge and Pizza Hut. Cupboard rummaging and glares. Weird photographs. Albums of memories. Walks in the college lawns and talks on the benches. Homework and notes and practical files. Gifts from every holiday. Farewells and sleepovers and long long conversations.

Some journey.

PS- Happy birthday, again, and many more to come! <3

Travel Tales

2009-10-08T18:24:00.006+01:00

I guess the day had to come when I'd finally be traveling alone. All alone. I just didn't think it would come this soon. But it did, and has just passed me by, leaving me feeling very different...older, somehow. It's always pleasant to find out that you really don't mind your own company!

So I traveled down south, Manipal being the exact destination, but having seen a few places--well, airports, really--along the way. The flight to Bangalore was pretty uneventful, the only interesting thing being the conversation between the little boy and his mum sitting next to me ("I know how planes fly!"..."where does all our luggage go?"..."can I open the window?"..."why is it always night in space?"). Aw.

Whizzing to Bangalore in a taxi, I was accompanied by my thoughts and a lot of phone calls. The pleasant weather made my spirit soar, and I could feel a tinge of adventure in the air. Of course, my juvenile sense of humor didn't abandon me, as I waited excitedly for a sign of the Palace Grounds (mainly to send my brother an evil message, this being a sore point with him) and wondering how the Bangalore traffic police manages to feel dignified in their strange uniforms.

The evening was quite a blur, with new friends and cups of tea and random conversations and phone calls and Calvin and Hobbes. An early dinner later, I found myself in a bus with my "new friends", sitting next to a very fat human specimen who took up half my seat (no offense, but I was rather miffed). I gave up trying to sleep through his snores after a while, and we made some adjustments that left me sitting by the window, a lot happier despite my poor numbingly-aching legs. Our excited late night repartee about every book imaginable finally culminated when a co-passenger was awoken by the same and proceeded to rudely shush us. Sleep was impossible with the amount of jumping we did at regular intervals (yes, calling the road "bumpy" is definitely an understatement). We finally arrived at our destination around 7 a.m. and awaited the motorcycles.

One thing that I learnt on this trip is how deeply I can sleep. I slept through:
1. Very loud drumming, knocking and banging on my door.
2. About fifteen phone calls. While the phone was vibrating right underneath my head.
3. Seven successive alarms intended to wake the deepest of sleepers (read: my sister).

But I did wake up every single morning that I had to get to the conference all by myself and a little earlier than necessary. Fishy, huh?

A Week in the Life

2009-09-25T16:44:00.005+01:00

I confess, I do miss blogging like I once used to. But it’s lost its charm somewhat, mostly because all the people who read and commented on my blog seem to have vaporized (hint hint). But anyhow, I doubt that the self-importance-inducing pleasure that blogging gives will ever completely die out; so here I am again, two weeks (and several books and movies and a consolation prize in a photography competition) later. Miss me?

Yeah, rhetorical question, if you must.

Last weekend, we had our Diwali Mela (yes it’s always a month earlier, please don’t ask why) (because I don’t know) (well, I suppose it’s because the holidays interfere…but you could’ve figured that for yourself, no?) and it was very very hot. In addition I was bullied into purchasing two ridiculous articles of clothing from a friend’s stall (I NEVER do that, I should tell you, so that just tells you how hot it really was). I’m pathetic when it comes to shopping, mostly because it’s always exhausting for me. I always end up getting stuck on two things and having the yes-no-yes-no debate. Gah.
But still, the blueberry yoghurt, pasta and chocolate-dripping waffles were quite a high point. Not to mention my friends’ excitement over getting their palms “read” by a woman who I can swear was saying practically the same thing to everyone. And charging Rs. 60. What a rip off.

The department journal troubles are also far from over. After the disconcerting yet satisfying (who says it’s a man’s world?) trips to dodgy printer shops last month, I could have sworn the worst was over. Except yesterday saw me doing the same again, though it was a little more eventful this time. There we were, walking purposefully through the throng trying to accost us with cries of “software” and papers being thrust under our chins, when there was a loud “bang”. No, not diwali being celebrated very early by some industrious vagabond, but a real fire from an electric wire (ooh, I rhy…okay too old for that). Right above our destination, too. And people were being particularly stupid, crowding around it for a bit as thought they’d never seen fire before, and then just pretending it didn’t exist and walking up and down just the same as usual. Our conversation went something like:

G- Ah, the complacency of Indians. *sigh*
K- Ooh omg they’re actually laughing! And what is that pink shirt staring at?! *gape*
A- I did NOT mean it when I said I was going to be obituarised in our journal! *sniffle*

Ah well, all in a day’s work.

And to end on a musical note—have you ever noticed that when you sing songs without actually concentrating, you subconsciously pervert the lyrics? I sure do =/

For instance, this song became:

I’ll be your flying soldier
I’ll be your suicide…

Hmm, not very flattering now, is that?

But don’t mind me, go listen to the real thing, it’s beautiful.

Enchanté

2009-09-10T07:38:00.004+01:00

Browsing Flickr for inspiration is always a good idea. Sometimes, of course, it leaves you with utter disillusionment at your own modest (in)abilities, but more often than not you end up staring open-mouthed at the screen in awe.

Something that happened when I saw this image by Gale Franey:

And this is only the beginning.

For more of her amazing work, visit her photostream or her website.

Till later!

Booked

2009-09-06T18:10:00.002+01:00

Following a disturbing discussion in German class on how the internet is dulling creativity, critical thinking and reading habits, I marched into the Delhi Book fair at Pragati Maidan with immense vigor. The long walk in the sun till we got to Hall 12A was not as much of a dampener as it could have been, and the sudden gust of cool AC breeze at the entrance only reassured me further. Inside was a gargantuan red-carpeted paradise for book lovers, though with its share of a rather uncouth crowd. I was a little disarmed to see that a huge square space in the middle of the hall was being used as a picnic spot with families sitting cross-legged with tiffins and all. Not that I minded it particularly (there were enough books to make up for it all) but the aroma of an amalgam of pickles pervaded the whole experience. Ah well.

I went with two particular books in mind—a graphic Bible recommended by Babbitty on Friday, and an English translation of the Quran recommended by my German teacher an hour previously. For the rest I intended to be surprised. Imagine my reaction when I found the Qoran sitting happily in one of the first stalls I visited—and priced at a meager twenty five rupees! The first purchase was made.

Then followed a long long row of stalls that had nothing at all to do with books (where me and dad did buy a couple of things nonetheless, including the most adorable visiting card holder in pink! Not that I have any cards to put in it, but who cares). I also saw a very long line of people crowding a particular counter so I curiously went to see what the fuss was all about. They were trying out a pencil.

Just as I was beginning to be disillusioned by the sudden paucity of books, along came salvation—rows upon rows upon rows of books being sold off at the flat price of a hundred bucks. Obviously this is where I spent most of my time, ending with a stack of books taller than me that I was impatiently ordered to select from. Grim task, that, but I managed it, ending with a German book on India that I might be able to read in a few hundred years, a book on the Stasis that I’m extremely thrilled about, and something resembling a chick-read that I suspect will be very useful in days to come.

Along came Penguin. We went, we saw, we did not ~~conquer~~ buy. Off to hall 11 then, we thought, finding no decent place to rest or grab a bite. The graphic Bible sustained me. Munching on my brownie, I decided that I admittedly did not have the energy to roam the hall anymore, and a phone call informed me that I was in the wrong hall anyway. We elbowed our way back to 12A, to Penguin once again, to the table in the center that I had confidently informed dad earlier would have nothing worth buying. It took mere seconds to locate the hallowed book, several dozen minutes to pay and then it was finally over.

Jeez, no wonder I’m tired.

Where the Colors Don't Go

2009-09-05T15:02:00.003+01:00

Today I took my first holiday in twenty-one days and I couldn't be more cranky.

And trying to figure out why is so not helping.

Someone once said that life is a contest between what's urgent and what's important, and Urgent always wins. So true. Waking up early, getting through classes and free periods and humidity and notes and assignments and presentations and interviews and outings and faces, oh, so many faces. And feeling alone through it all. It takes its toll. On the one holiday, on the one day you thought you'd just forget it all and sleep. Because that one day, you have time to think. To connect with yourself and figure out exactly why your world is so messed up.

Thinking isn't very nice.

And at the end of it all you come back to all the notes you missed and all the catching up you have to do and all the faces you don't want to see but have to yet again.

Kites

2009-08-19T15:08:00.006+01:00

Having finally "flown" a kite on Saturday the 15th of August, for what I believe was my first time, I got thinking about why kite-flying is the ritual on Independence Day. I mean, I understand the beauty of the colored diamond-crepes floating around up above the world so high, and how they could be a symbol of freedom. But then, they are controlled too, aren't they, by a string from the ground or a rooftop?

Not that the kite always obeys orders, no sir, for the pretty shiny purple one I chose was gormless enough to get stuck behind several obstacles no matter how hard I tried to maneuver it (in my defense, I believe it was defective).

Nonetheless, the sight of the dozen or so kids strewn along my route to german class on Sunday morning, kids who might normally be begging on the street or occupied elsewhere, standing with eager faces turned skyward and hands deftly and vigorously tugging and pulling at seemingly invisible strings, answered my questions somewhat. The colored diamonds were back in the finally-cloudy Delhi sky, and also, I believe, was the hope for a new day and a new beginning.

Happy Happy

2009-08-08T16:59:00.005+01:00

Guess who's birthday it is today? Guess guess?

I'll give you a hint: He plays tennis. He just won back to back Grand Slam titles. He's number one. He dotes on his wife. He just became the father of twin girls. And omg, I swore to myself I wouldn't do one of my oh-he's-so-awesome rants. But he's having such a great year, can you help being happy for (or with) him? Nah. But don't want to jinx it. *taps wood*

Charlene and Myla with their parents. Aren't they wunnerful? The happiness of this picture just gets to me. So many of us are at a place in life where work is all-important and having a healthy relationship or happy marriage may be reserved only if it "happens" for us. But really, who doesn't want this?

Anyway, I'm hell tired and got to wake up super early to spend Sunday morning in class, as always. Oh well, there will be a reward for my pain. Maybe some day I'll meet Federer and his family and jabber with them in fluent German. Lalala.

Happy Birthday! :)

Mothers and Daughters

2009-07-25T12:32:00.006+01:00

Yet again, the ideas I have for posts far outnumber the posts themselves. And it looks like it's going to stay this way for a while, because with the way things are going, the only time I get to even breathe is on days like today, when I feel ill enough to be forced to bunk a class and loll around at home. And even then, people are presumptuous enough to tell you that you do nothing all day long, simply because they have giant misconceptions that studying English Literature from Delhi University (keeping other things aside) is a Piece of Cake. Well, people will be people. And sometimes you just have to stop worrying about being the quintessential nice, polite person and say, to hell with them. Not that I'm really talking about me here, not altogether. But anyway, I digress from what I really wanted to post about. The TV show that was powerful enough to prompt me to actually wait for hours on end for it to download. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Gilmore Girls.

Okay, so firstly, it's set in a place called Stars Hollow. Now if you know me well enough, you'd know that I'd have to see anything that had a place with a name like that, especially if it were as quaint and pretty as Stars Hollow actually is. And then, there's the story line. I'm just halfway through season one, but I'm glued. It's about a 32-year-old single mother and her 16-year-old daughter, both named Lorelai after the male 'fashion' of naming sons after fathers. In fact, the mother-daughter theme runs strong through the show with basically three such relationships being explored. And most importantly, the script rocks my socks :) It is smart, witty, unpredictable and captivating. It's rare to find a so-called drama show actually making you giggle more than some sitcoms do. The feisty charm of Lorelai Gilmore Sr. and the innocent freshness of Lorelai Gilmore Jr. will always make you want to watch more of their 'chemistry', as their ordinary lives strike a chord with yours. Fairly fast-paced (another scorer with me, I hate having to watch what the characters do every single hour of every single day) and always lively, this is a show that explores human behavior. And if all that weren't enough, throw in a few very cute boys, and there you have it.

The Clock

2009-07-15T16:59:00.003+01:00

So, the poem first, then.

I gaze ahead in blank contemplation
Seeing nothing, forcing the right thoughts to stay
The hands of the clock never reverse their motion
The motionless calendar marks each passing day

I’m trying so hard, too hard, perhaps
For never did force masterpieces inspire
But I need to explain these passing hours
And to somehow find that inner fire

I open my notebook to an empty page
And hold the pen ready yet again
The clock ticks as I search for my muse
As so many times before, in vain

It’s hard to admit that I’m failing at life
And to face the questioning, demanding world
The bend in the road is still out of sight
It’s hard to accept that I’m just an ordinary girl

The pen drops from my listless hand
Staining the page where the words should have been
I gaze again at the ticking clock
That shuts the doors on the dreams I’ve seen

It takes but one moment to end its life
And its broken hands to pause in mine
I gaze down at the shards of glass
Not in blank contemplation this time

I know the river will still flow
But it might bring my muse to shore
And though the moon will wax and wane
The steady stars will let me dream once more

And I’ll begin my life, build it stone by stone
Slow and steady I’ll climb the stairs
And answer the world with a smile of my own
But all in my time, not theirs.

To Poona and Back

2009-07-14T11:53:00.004+01:00

Argh I have SO MUCH to tell, I don't know where to begin. Should I start with the poem I finally managed to write after a zillion dry days? Or the trip to Poona where the weather was just as weather should be? Or the reader's block I've finally overcome and what I read as a result? Or the slowly-killing but uber awesome Wimbledon final (men's, obviously)? Or the movies that I feel absolutely compelled to review? Or the sorry tale of how I dropped my camera in water and find it impossible to go on living? Or the driving lesson that made me wonder if I'm too uncoordinated to drive a car? Or...OMG WAS THAT A RAT????

...........

Swan Song

2009-06-27T11:32:00.005+01:00

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste place with joy

Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear

The warble was low, and full and clear; ...

But anon her awful jubilant voice,

With a music strange and manifold,

Flow’d forth on a carol free and bold;

As when a mighty people rejoice

With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold...

~Tennyson's The Dying Swan

I came across this verse by Tennyson (my favoritest poet of all time) a few days ago, and had the photo to match. Hmm, no, I think I matched the verse to the photo.....anyhow, I just thought that I'd like to dedicate it to Michael Jackson, it seems to...fit. I've never really been a huge fan of his, but I do respect him as an artist. And I *love* Heal the World. So. RIP.

Of Photography

2009-06-18T15:50:00.007+01:00

Oh, what a week! I’ve been out and about so much that I can’t even recall what I’ve been up to! Which suits me just fine. I’ve realized I’m happiest when I’m busy. Not that I don’t have time to get bored, that could never happen. I vaguely recollect whining about it in the recent past. But all in all, though I can’t exactly quantify what I’ve been doing this summer (and though my to-do list still remains unscratched), I’m quite happy with the progress I’m making (again, not quantifiable. Or explicable. You get the drift. ^^). And I have a feeling it’s going to get better.

On Monday, me and the best friend conducted our first-ever photo shoot with a model, a concept, ~~3 stools, a carpet, an umbrella, 2 cameras, flowers~~ and three bagfuls (is that a word?) of stuff. After a lot of brainstorming and photostream browsing, we finally managed to zero in on a levitation concept that seemed too awesome to be true. But we couldn’t find balloons. Sniff.

Shooting was fun, minus all the greasy-haired, cell-phone-waving, gaping, gawking guys that come to a pretty place like Nehru Park for some reason that I have failed to fathom. Atleast the ones without girlfriends. We got a pretty clear view of what the ones with girlfriends come there for. For once, I was pretty thankful that I’m near-blind without my glasses. Hee.

But anyway, check out what we came up with! I’m pretty proud of us, if I say so myself! I couldn’t use Photoshop to save my life till four days back, but today I did a nice little editing job while talking on the phone at the same time. Ah, I knew it, if so many others could do it, why on earth wouldn’t I be able to? :P So there you have it, a sample for all ~~the lazy gophs who don’t like clicking the links so painfully provided~~ to view:

Here’s to many more to come. *toasts*

Note: All images are copyrighted. Please do not use without permission. Respect the model.

Allez

2009-06-08T14:29:00.010+01:00

Ah, what a day! Or rather, what an end to it. Being fully aware that my tennis-related posts never garner many comments, I still feel the compulsive need to post about this...epoch in my life, if you will.

Since my TV still refuses to chow Star Sports, I haven't been able to watch a single tennis match this year. Why don't you get it repaired, you might ask. It's because I'm lazy. Thank you. So anyway, I couldn't possibly miss this particular match, where Roger would possibly make history. With Nadal safely out of the way and his conqueror across the net, Federer finally did what he had been waiting for for so long. No wonder he sobbed. I like guys who sob, I've realised. Not those who sob all the time, you know, but it's nice to know they can and be reminded once in a while. Whoever started this concept of crying being a womanly thing anyway?

Of course, Nids' couldn't stand it. She thought he was weird, and strangely enough, that I was weird too. She also thinks Mirka is weird and crying is weird. Weird.

The match wasn't too long or close, to say the least, except the second set. But that was probably because Federer was too distracted by the weirdo who got onto the court and started waving a Spanish flag in his face. Even tried to drape it around him and put a beret on his head. ( I missed that because Nids' insisted on watching Wizards of Waverly Place for some reason. She is such a kid.) But anyway, shocking really. All everyone was thinking was "it could have been a knife...". A Monica Seles all over again. And plenty of people could be out to get Federer. *shudder*

But funny man, really. Imagine getting 30 seconds of fame for waving a flag. Probably had one drink too many. And not a word about the incident in today's paper, strangely...

But when all was said and done, Federer was in total command out there. He hardly made any mistakes, played the most artistic of shots and deserved his win. ~~No one could have looked happier~~ Oh wait, he was crying...when presented the trophy by his good friend Andre. I couldn't understand his victory speech coz he spoke in French. Seriously, he is so awesome. He speaks four languages. Fluently. Hotness.

He has named his latest prize "Coupe des Mousquetaires" and introduced her to us on Facebook. He is so awesome. (Have I mentioned that already?). But yeah, he is.

Oh, what does that "coupe" thing mean? Anyone? I did learn some new French words yesterday. Jeu, quinze, trente, quarante. Forgotten how to pronounce them, though.

French sucks.

But the French Open doesn't, anymore. :)

Update: I found wedding pictures! Look how happy they are! Awww. And people are hilarious, there are speculations as to whether he will name the baby Roland, lmao!

Bouillabaisse

2009-06-03T16:19:00.004+01:00

This summer is turning out quite ok. I don't really have time to get bored! I can't exactly quantify what I've been doing, but I'm never idle, and that's a feat for sure. Since mom and dad aren't home, I can feel shoots of responsibility sprouting up in me and I find myself cleaning without being asked! Wonder of wonders, life does funny things.

I watched Erin Brockovich today. Fun. I wish I could talk like that :( Also loved Renaissance Man. I think I'll do a whole post on movies soon. Internships and photography have taken a back seat for now, though I did have one memorable session shooting myself with a guitar et al. I say memorable; it was more of a catastrophe than anything else. The light was wrong, the camera had to be balanced on a chair and a Harry Potter and I had precisely 10 seconds to set it up, grab the guitar, run pass the chair on which it was kept (taking care not to move it by even a nano-inch or the camera would fall), hold the guitar in a pro-like position so as to not betray that I'm actually a poser, compose my face and be still. Several hours and several hundred shots later (okay, slight exaggeration), I did not get a single shot that was actually nice. Photography is fun? Not.

I think I had an easier time than good ol' Nids, though. She's stopped blogging, sadly enough, and nothing I say seems to convince her otherwise. Worry not, I'm still trying. But her photography is somethin' amazing.

In other news, the French Open is pretty eventful this year. Last year, me and Sonal were writing an analysis on it for a magazine that never saw the light of day (ok, weird). But this year's just full of upsets. Not only are both defending champions out, but so are several other high ranked players. In the fourth round, at that. But I didn't gloat. I just get better every year :)

Which reminds me of a conversation I had with this guy in my class a couple of years ago. He said the day Nadal loses the French will come after I'm married (or some such thing). May I please be excused now? I have a phone number to find.

Dolce vita, my foot

2009-05-25T14:03:00.005+01:00

Anyway.

The poster of New Moon is out.

Pretty decent, I think. I don't really like ~~Bella's~~ Kirsten's expression much, but no surprises there. Jacob, to my relief, looks very nice with short hair, which is a good thing because he's the best part of New Moon. Edward, I think, is going to continue that white-faced-lipstick-ed look because of which he failed to send a single shiver up my spine while watching Twilight. Which (in case you're new to this) is blasphemy. I like what he's wearing though.

And yes, I'm a Twilit/Twilighter/Twihard or whatever the fans of this series are called. Have been one since last...September, was it? Why I like the books is a whole different post. On second thoughts, lets skip it altogether, shall we? Let it suffice to say that I don't appreciate its criticism or spoofing in my (or my blog's) presence.

Oh, and, guys like it too. I love reading their reports, especially this one and THIS ONE. Haha, unbelievable.

I keep forgetting what I have to post.

Oh yeah, check out this video. The song in itself is pretty hilarious, but me and Nids nearly died laughing watching this. It's the song as interpreted by this international comedian. (I only clicked on it because I spied chocolate chip cookies in his hand).

And did I mention I hate cricket? And IPL? Pfft. I went to the mall the other day and was pleasantly surprised to see many cute-ish guys. I wondered what they were doing there. Then I found out the mall was showing the semi-final on a (ta daaa) big screen. *eyeroll* I went to the family club for dinner yesterday. Guess what? Yeah. And this time there was also an irritating emcee tempting people to win stuff (every time she started speaking, Sahil muttered "Swatchwatch, win a Swatchwatch" under his breath. I'm going to hate Swatch watches from now, I just know it) and real live cheerleaders. Cheerleaders, I ask you.

Cricket attracts people in our country like flies are attracted to dung. Or however the simile goes.

Just in case you were wondering, the title (well, the first two words) mean "sweet life" in Italian. The rest is self explanatory. Yeah. I'm flunking my German exam, so I might learn Italian next. Or Spanish. And I'm going to study photography in Italy next year. Or Spain.

I will I will I will.

Violence Gets Younger

2009-05-19T15:16:00.001+01:00

A first-grader shoots his classmate to death because he doesn’t “like” her. A youth murders his invigilator for not allowing him to cheat on an exam. A group of eleven, after a game of cricket, forcefully beat up a boy and rape his girlfriend. Another high school student goes on a shooting spree, killing some of his fellow students and staff.

A pattern can be noticed here. Not only do a majority of these incidents involve the youth, but nearly all such incidents involve males. There seems to be a gender divide as far as aggressive and harmful activities are concerned. Nine out of ten cases of hit and run or of underage, over-speed driving involve males. Nine out of ten rapes involve youths below the age of 30—it is a universal fact, and not just in India—that rapists are getting younger. The fact that minors cannot be imprisoned and are, admittedly unfairly, let off easy, might be a major reason for the lack of threat they feel from the law. For instance, in many cases of drunk driving in Delhi, parents bail out their children or they get off with minor punishments, at the most doing a drill directing traffic. So much for a life lost or an injury sustained.

Having made these generalizations, the aim of this article is not to slander any particular group or gender of society. It is only an attempt to see a pattern, and to try and understand why this trend is on a rise. Reasons for such crimes, of course, may be in most cases personal. However, we cannot ignore the fact that certain triggers or methodologies of thinking are also leading to an increase in this perversion of thought. The media is one of them. Films and television shows, including cartoons targeted at young children, depict an increased rate of violence. It is a psychologically established fact that even children of the age of 2-3 years are intelligent enough to recognize violence, and they do not realize that what they are viewing is not a part of reality. Cartoons like Batman, Power Rangers and X-Men depict violence in every single episode. It is no wonder then that children exposed to this may turn to it as a solution to their own problems, and think that the only method of getting their way is by beating the “enemy” up. Moreover, the perpetrator of violence is often glorified, and this sends out a dangerously wrong message to the society. Not only does it encourage imitation, but it also sows the seed of the idea of escaping justice and punishment. Movies like Rambo and The Brave One bring forth the idea of the complete absence of justice in the society. Video games are another source exposed to children that encourage them to “fight” and “kill”, some being particularly violent and with extreme explicit graphic content.

Music has also been known to initiate and cause aggressive reactions, especially certain genres like hard rock and metal. Concerts, like that of the Rolling Stones in 1991 in Missouri, have ended with outbreaks of actual riots, this particular case involving 2500 youths, and injuring 60. The behavior at concerts is often frantic. However, even in the safety of one’s home, it is amazing how a song can initiate so much violence. A student in America killed his mother before committing suicide, and was known to have been humming a song about blood and killing one’s mother for a week before that. Songs with names and lyrics have also been known to trigger such reactions. Although it would be wrong to simply say that all such music perpetrates violence and should therefore be avoided, the attraction of music especially for the youth is something we cannot dismiss.

With so many wrong signals being sent out unwittingly to the audience, is wrong to expect the obvious to follow? The role of parents in bringing up their children as responsible citizens, then, is of paramount importance. They need to censor and keep tabs on what their children are being exposed to, and shouldn’t be too liberal in what they allow their children to do. There is a time and place for everything, but some things are best left out. The human psyche is in constant search for the new and the unexplored. This same trait, in a skewered mentality, harbors a threat to the entire society, for a perpetrator of violence leads not only to his own downfall (if at all) but to that of innocent victims, which violates a citizens’ right to security and leads undoubtedly to a very unhealthy society.
[Originally written for and published in The Viewspaper]

Happy Birthday to You <3

2009-05-14T18:17:00.002+01:00

Aaaaaaaand, we (that is to say, myself and Reflections) turn TWO today. Hip hip hurray *jumps up and down* (not really)

Unlike last year, I really can't think of any special way to celebrate. I still marvel at the journey and how much I've grown *snigger*, and I'm obviously grateful to my readers too. Y'know what, just read last year's post :)

Besides, I'm wearing my year-old glasses so can't see much. And I already had vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce *slurp*

But here's cake, want a piece?

Thanks for reading and commenting and just being there!