On What To Write

With a slight grudge, I admit I have secretly been trying to revive myself as a half-decent half-regular blogger, but every time I write something I develop grave doubts about the quality of stuff that comes out, just as I go to press the publish link. Now I am not the kind people associate with this word 'blogger', especially those who have only heard of it through news-channels or newspapers; I usually never have any solutions for combating terrorism, nor do I harbour any anti-establishment, angry-young-man sentiments of mentionable magnitudes. Singur plant stays or goes, I give a damn, Samjhauta Express runs or ceases to, and I give a damn. On the few occasions on which I've tried hard to become that archetypal blogger, the results have been no short of being terribly bombed documentaries. And then I don't really live a particularly jazzed up life either that I'd beat drum about. As a result of all of this, what usually comes out is a dismissive, self-deprecating account of how I must be a loser just because I am not exactly the winner. All talk of candour notwithstanding, writing truth - and that which matters, isn't my cup of tea either, I now believe. Whenever it comes to it, I tend to become overtly sentimental about trivial surrounding issues and downright maudlin if at all I ever get down to the crux, which I seldom do. This process of elimination of alternatives leaves me with only the option of writing to make fun both of people's eccentricities and normalities, my own biases ruling out the possibility of writing possibly educative stuff. Now when I make fun of others, I start feeling guilty. Actually, I start feeling guilty no matter what. Actually, I think I need to see a doctor. Actually, I had better leave.

Updating ... done.

In some contrast to recent past, I have largely become a formality blogger. While I usually logged on to blogger when I had something I wanted to express, the posts now are more of an attempt to ensure that the blog doesn't become practically defunct. So here I am, putting in this entry, primarily because I haven't put in any in some time. I still stand by my notion though, that it is certainly among the better things to have come out of the Web revolution. And hopefully, I'll soon have the renewed zest of an avid idle-idea-baking-confectioner. Avid Idle. Oxymoron, I observe. Anyway.

This blog is in some ways a diary. Therefore, so that this doesn't pass unmentioned, I also got a job during the long tea break since the last post. Now that that is done, there's something else to get geared up for. I think the cycle never ceases. I also think it shouldn't.

A Little Bit of Looking-Back

Hardly into it, have I reckoned the final year as remarkably different from the first three. But then, weren’t they all different in their own ways ? Freshman year was nothing like the 2nd , 3rd , or 4th year. The sophomore experience was so full of energy; unique in its own way. And well, the third year was a period in transition between the two extremities of second and fourth years; perhaps the time students start thinking about the things post-college.

I often tell my friends the time I’ll remember the most would surely be the first year. It is that time when you suddenly meet a host of new people, many of whom are certain to leave a lasting imprint on your life and on the way you see things. Talk about fun, I never had any during my first year. If at all there was, it was the fun on the run. We constantly ran away from seniors who’d always be on the prowl, looking for frail freshers to get their lengthy assignments done. If I know correctly, though I don’t claim I do, then the scene isn’t all that scary now as it used to be in our time. Anti-Ragging banners galore in the campus, which I feel deter most seniors from even trying the most harmless of mischief. What I used to do back then to avoid servility to seniors I neither knew nor respected, is that I used to tell some friend of mine to lock my door from outside and slide the key back from beneath the door, so that I would call someone up when I needed to go out and then slide the key again for him to open the door for me. Most of the times, there would be a group of six-seven of us inside my room; but the room locked from outside so that the seniors who came to my doorsteps with their assignments went back disappointed. I don’t really know how the sentiment is now, among the freshers, but back then a unanimous agreement on seniors being the common enemies provided a setting really conducive to some great bonding among all of us.

The second year was as different from the first as Nisha Kothari from Gracy Singh. In fact, it is invariably the second year guys who have the most pronounced I-am-your-senior syndrome. They like to take the roles of people they hated while in their first year, as soon as there are new people at the receiving end. I can’t say this about the whole college in general, but it is true every bit for how it’s like at the boys’ hostels. It is here that I was a misfit, never able to really value any seniority that comes on account of having been born earlier, irrespective of which side I was on. It defeats all rationale. If I admire you, it may be for your work, your qualities, or even seemingly absurd things as how you walk or how you run through the stairs. But for your age, never. Not unless you’re at least thirty years my senior. Apart from that, it was hands down the most vibrant year. We went to every goddamn fest in the city, dancing through dawns. There were hardly any days on which we slept before 2am. It was the kind of hurry to have fun which you’d expect from someone being packed off to some sand collection project in The Sahara in a week’s time. I don’t know why we were so crazy. It was fun, great fun. Very soon, I got fed up of it.

And when I got fed up of it, I became a little reclusive. Beyond that time I can’t make any generalisations on how college is like, because I had already deviated too much from any generalised conception of college-goers. By a strange coincidence, soon after I happened to read a lot of reclusive-literature, if I may use the term. Some by reclusive authors, some on reclusive protagonists. I can’t say if it was a good thing to have happened or not; at least I don’t regret it; not so far.

Things now are a muddle of all things past, a hazy assortment devoid of any valuable insight, any clear path, or any useful experience. Also, there’s a slight guilt of not having utilized my college years fruitfully. Truth be told, I am only as equipped, have only as much knowledge or skills, as I had when I had just finished Class XII. From this standpoint, it’s been a waste of years. Sometimes I wish I had studied with care, tried to score good marks and all, until the futility of this mistimed regret strikes me. The other day I went to a freshers’ room, just to see how they would react. They looked a little tense at the mere sight of someone unfamiliar in their room, and on coming to know that I am from the fourth year their misgivings multiplied. From their looks, it seemed I was, for them, the sophomore’s vice raised to the power of three. ‘I ragged people who ragged those who are these days ragging you.’, I told them just to experience the look on their faces, which suddenly started looking like pumpkins in a furnace, and I told myself that nothing has changed. When I asked one of them what book they have for Manufacturing Processes, he answered, ‘Yes, err I am err in first err year.’ as though that were his biggest err-or in life. The chap didn’t know what he was speaking. 'We weren’t that bad', I patted myself in my thoughts. Then I told them they could consider me harmless and that I just felt like meeting them casually. One Electronics guy and two Polymers guys were studying Automotive Engineering from a Khali sized book. What on earth do you do with this book, when I, despite my branch and year, don’t know cow about it? This was what I asked, partly startled, partly insecure at my own insufficiency, and partly worried about these overly studious young guys. ‘We are interested in it.’, they answered unequivocally but then started looking at me a little apologetically, until I started feeling apologetic about lacking any concrete interests and went back to my room.

Sombre Snippets

Aug 12, 2008, 6:15 AM
As I begin typing this on the word tool, I have a wavy self belief, and not much else. A friend, AG, has just left for his home after spending the night (or whatever remained of it) at my room. There’s nothing I feel right now, except that my legs are paining a lot, particularly below the knees. I just saw the mirror, and I could make out, umm I couldn’t make out anything.

Aug 12, 2008, 2:20 AM
After proposing watching a film, or better – two, just an hour ago, AB has strangely taken a diametrically opposite turn. Now it’s the other two of us – AG and I who want to watch a movie, desperately. AB, though, has refused and insists on sleeping as a ‘good idea’.

Aug 11, 2008, 3:00 PM
Aptitude results are out! 60 out of 250 short-listed. The atmosphere’s frenetic, and around hundred of my colleagues are making calls to hundred other of my colleagues. A couple were counting on me too to let them know of their result as and when it comes out, in case they are not there when it does. I make a call to one, telling him he made it. I was just going to make it to another telling him he had not, but the phone battery, I see, has fished out. I thank God for that. Meanwhile, I discover, there are 5 from my class in the list, plus I.

Aug 11, 2008, 9:30 PM
A second shortlist is about to come now after gruelling hour long interviews with each one of us. All six of us are terribly tired after the unceasing interview and the unceasing waiting that followed it. Meanwhile, PG points out that Kaluwithrana sitting next to the stairs doesn’t look any tired. But why should he; with that bombshell constantly motivating him by his side. ‘Would you be tired then, AG?’, I asked. ‘No way No way’, he answered with a new-found vigour; ‘I’d rather want the interviews to go on all night’. Wait. The shortlist. Shortlist. Yes, I think it has arrived. H’m. Three of the six from my class have been eliminated. For PG especially, I can’t find any consoling words. He was here with me the day before yesterday; when we had stuck till the end before not finding ourselves in the final selections list. I remember we were wondering what keeps them interested in us till the end, and what is it about us that they tend to realise only at the end, and that makes them abhor us all of a sudden. Now as I fasten my knot for the second round, I just take his best wishes while keeping mum, even as he leaves back for the hostel.

Aug 12, 2008, 1:20 AM
‘None of us’, informs AG.
‘None’, confirms AB.
‘None?’ I protest.
None. As we sit rejected and dejected at the end of the entire process, I point out we’d have been better off kicked out after the first round of written itself. What fun is staying up this late, when they had made up their mind. My cumulative till the end of the penultimate round was ranked fourth, the placement council guys inform me. That should have seen me comfortably in; they took seventeen eventually. But no Production-guys. ‘Production sucks’, AG shouts as he kicks air. We are still there on the pavement, though not talking with each other any longer. The security guard asks if we made it, but quickly understood from our looks without us having to answer. Ten minutes later we’re still sitting there, an odd yawn breaking the gloomy silence. Suddenly the super seventeen storm out of the hall, all having their mobiles glued to their ears. A cacophony of ‘Oyeee!’, ‘I’ve got a job Dad!’, ‘(whispering giggles)’, ‘Party party’ etc are to be heard from all sides. We decide to get up and leave. Meanwhile, AB suggests we watch a movie to diverge our minds. We say yes, ok. AB has ‘Singh is Kinng’. Alright, our faces light up.

Speed

If there is scope, and you still don’t feel like changing the gear to overtake, there is something wrong with you. I know this, because something was wrong with me today, and strangely I didn’t feel like overtaking or over-speeding at all. One could argue – that’s no basis for the converse to be true too. But then didn’t I just tell you, something’s wrong.

Naukri and all

The long lazy holidays are drawing to a close. In some days, the placid afternoons I spend surfing the internet will be replaced by frantic placements activity. I just hope I get a decent job, most importantly because only getting a job will get my mind off getting a job. Belonging to quite an unenviable branch - Production and Industrial, in my case - has its own advantages. Most of us are conditioned to settle for less, not cry grouses at losing a fancy opportunity, knowing fully well that if it was so fancy, it wasn't meant for us in the first place. Among us, a major chunk gets placed in the first week itself because that's when the mass recruiters, who have a reputation for picking up every Tom, Dick and Harry (TDH), recruit. Personally, being no-topper at my no-great branch, the TDH offers are all that appear to be in reach, even if not comfortable reach, but yeah, reach nonetheless. This brings my mind to a widespread delusion that I see has inextricably become part of the archetypal I.I.T.(+) aspirant's thought-process (You know what the '+' stands for fully well). Having gone through the ordeal myself, I advise every one of them to go for the field they would love to go for, before the college they may pride themselves on going to.

Other than that, there's not much to write home about. Wait, I have some things to say about the Lok Sabha Debate, a couple of things about CAT and stuff, still some things about friends, and maybe I'd even want to sneak a few paragraphs about the latest movies I've seen - because I've seen quite a few lately, around 30 in the last 30 days. Just the thought of writing so much renders me too tired to try, so that's it.

हमारी मातृभाषा

बहुत दिनों से सोच रहा था की हिन्दी भाषा में कुछ लिखू। एक हिन्दी भाषी होने के नाते मुझे आभास होता रहता की मेरा कर्तव्य है की यदा-कदा ही सही मैं हिन्दी में लिखूं अवश्य। बस इसी उधेड़बुन में था की बरसो से हिन्दी छोड़ चुका मैं, क्या इस से न्याय कर पाउँगा ? फ़िर सोचता, की क्या रखा है इस न्याय आदि के आडम्बर में, प्रयत्न तो किया जाए। इसी बीच अमिताभ के ब्लॉग पर हिन्दी में एक लेख देख कर मेरा निश्चय ओर सशक्त हो गया।

हिन्दी की बात चली है तो सोचता हूँ अब इसी विषय पर थोड़ा विचार विमर्श किया जाए । विद्यालय के दिनों में मेरी हिन्दी में बहुत रूचि रही। इसका श्रेय मेरे नवी कक्षा के अध्यापक श्रीमान डॉक्टर अशोक कुमार ‘लव’ को जाता है। हिन्दी के निबंध ओर कहानियो को बड़ी सूक्ष्मता से समझाते हुए वे पूरा ध्यान इस बात का भी रखते थे की इसके गूढ़ पहलुओं को नज़रंदाज़ न किया जाए। उनकी इस शैली से मैं बहुत प्रभावित हुआ। आज भी उन बीतें दिनों को याद करता हूँ तो एक मुस्कान मेरे चेहरे पर एकाएक आ जाती है। हमारे अध्यापक होने के साथ साथ वे एक सिद्धहस्त कवि एवं लेखक भी थे। फ़िर यह तो स्वाभाविक ही है की हिन्दी साहित्य के अध्यन में उनके समान परिपक्वता शायद ही कोई ओर शिक्षक रखता हो। उन दिनों मुझे हिन्दी में लेख लिखने में बहुत आनंद आता था। प्रतिदिन घर लौटकर मैं कभी कवितायें लिखता तो कभी अपने एक महान लेखक बन्ने के सपने देखता। थोड़ा ओर बड़ा हुआ तो महसूस हुआ की हिन्दी के क्षेत्र में जाना यूँ तो मुझे खूब लुभाता लेकिन जीवन के निर्वाह के लिये आवश्यक पैसे शायद न आ पाते। ओर फिर मैं बचपन से ही, ज़्यादा तो नही, लेकिन थोड़ा महत्वकांक्षी अवश्य था। केवल निर्वाह मात्र मेरा लक्ष्य होता तो मैं खुशी खुशी उसी क्षेत्र में पाँव जमाता परन्तु ज़्यादा पैसा कमाने की लालसा कब हिन्दी प्रेम को पीछे धकेल कर मेरे ऊपर सवार हो गई पता नही चला।

आज देश में हिन्दी की स्थिति को देखकर दुःख भी होता है, पछतावा भी। दुःख इसलिए क्योंकि जिस देश की मात्रभाषा का गौरव पाने पर यह भाषा कभी इतराती होगी, उसी देश का एक बड़ा वर्ग आज इस भाषा से बंधन छोड़ चुका है। इससे ज़्यादा पीधित करता है यह सच की एक बड़ा, साख ओर रसूख वाला, अखबारों ओर परदे पर चकाचौंध से पेश किया जाने वाले लोगो का समूह हिन्दी में अपनी विफलता के बारे में बताते हुए मन ही मन आनंदित हो उठता है, ओर एक बेशर्म हसी इस विफलता पर नाज़ होने का सबूत देती है। धीरे धीरे ये विचार लोगों के मन में घर करता जा रहा है की समाज के ऊंचे पायदानों में उठाना बैठना है तो हिन्दी से किनारा कर लेने में ही भलाई है। अपने ही देश में हिन्दी की यह दुर्गति अत्यन्त चिंताजनक है, पर इसके लिए जिम्मेदार भी हम ही हैं। डर इस बात का नहीं है की हिन्दी समाप्त हो जायेगी – वो इसलिए की करोडो हिन्दी बोलने वालों के लिए अन्य भाषाओ से अवगत होने का कोई साधन है ही नही; परन्तु इतना अवश्य है की अच्छे साहित्य से हिन्दी वंचित रह जायेगी, जिसकी वह एक समय जननी हुआ करती थी। अंग्रेजी में तो आज भी बहतरीन साहित्य लिखा जा रहा है, लेकिन पशचिमिकरण की होड़ में हिन्दी साहित्य ने एक गहरी चोट ली है। ऐसे में भारत को चाहिए की वे फ्रांस ओर रशिया जैसे देशो से सीख ले, जो आज के विश्व्यापी अंग्रेजीकरण के बावजूद अपने साहित्य को संभाले ही नही हुए, अपितु उसे रोज़ नई ऊंचाइयो तक ले जाने के लिए प्रयासरत हैं।

जाते जाते अपने पसंदीदा कवि रामधारी सिंघ ‘दिनकर’ की कुछ पंक्तियों के साथ आज्ञा लेता हूँ। संयोग ही है, कि यूँ तो ये पंक्तियाँ कर्ण (महाभारत) के मुख से प्रस्तुत की गई हैं, लेकिन अपनी जड़ो से अनजान आज के भ्रमित युवा-वर्ग की व्यथा भी ये खूब सुनाती हैं। शायद उन्हें आने वाले कल का आभास हो चुका था ॥

मैं उनका आदर्श, कहीं जो व्यथा न खोल सकेंगे ।
पूछेगा जग उनसे, किंतु, पिता का न नाम न बोल सकेंगे ,
इस निखिल विश्व में जिनका कहीं कोई अपना न होगा ,
दिल में लिए उमंग जिन्हें चिर-काल कलपना होगा ....

Dis honesty is the best policy ?

Being honest, sometimes, is a most difficult thing, also foolish. Err, make that most of the times. Last year when one of my hostel friends asked me how he looked, I should have realised that even Salman-like for an answer wouldn’t do. As I soon found out, he didn’t consider Salman any good in comparison to how he evaluated himself. Not that I told him that he looked Salman-like, what I told him was that he resembled closely the chhole-kulche wallah who fled and married our maid’s daughter. That was the end of our friendship. No sooner had that happened than I read the following in The Fall:

"Above all, don't believe your friends when they ask you to be sincere with them. They merely hope you will encourage them in the good opinion they have of themselves by providing them with the additional assurance they will find in your promise of sincerity. How could sincerity be a condition of friendship? A liking for truth at any cost is a passion that spares nothing and that nothing resists. It's a vice, at times a comfort, or a selfishness. Therefore, if you are in that situation, don't hesitate: promise to tell the truth and then lie as best you can. You will satisfy their hidden desire and doubly prove your affection."

So I cultivated, rather painstakingly, the pretentiousness so essential to comply with the above. But at times the original does rise from slumber, and puts me in really awkward situations. Honestly, if someone tells you he's always honest you can be sure he's the biggest liar, and this the biggest lie; and if that's not the case then you can be sure he's hated by all. Really, never tell a duffer he's duffer, never tell a fat man he's fat, and never ever ever do that for a fat woman! Because, you know, a calm fat woman is way better than an angry one. One fine morning, I told one of my 'well-fed' classmates that the floor vibrated when she ran on it, so she had better walk slowly to the room even if she's running late for the class, because, I added, durghatna se der bhali. It was meant for levity, but sensing that's not the effect it had had on her I cleverly diverged to something else. That afternoon our Maths answersheets were distributed, and she had failed. I wanted to make up for the morning by expressing sympathies. I began,"It's a little shocking, isn't it, after all You.." when she cut me short, " Shocking? It's outrageous. I ? I ? I am fat ?"

Idler Express

Surviving long vacations is truly an art. Here at home, I have so much of idle time at my dispense that I am hard pressed for ideas on how to pass it. True, I count myself among expert idlers, something I recollect I have proclaimed on this blog on an earlier occasion also. Idling is good fun only in the company of fellow idlers; and my stay at hostel ensures I never fall short of such company. Now, however, with these vacations dragging at snail's pace, I find myself doing the most eccentric things I never thought I'd do. I wash my face a little more frequently now, hoping every time the washing away of the soap layer will uncover a hitherto hidden Tom Cruise; or keep fiddling with my mobile's camera without rhyme or reason just like Tendulkar's always fiddling with his abdominal guard, though I have a faint suspicion that one isn't without rhyme or reason. But here is what takes most of my time, or, to put it aptly, helps me pass most of my time - exemplifying foolish meticulousness, I follow every ant I can find trying to imprison it under a transparent pen-cap, and wait in vain to observe how it behaves on beginning to choke. Only that I always get bored before the ant gets choked and pull the cap away myself. The point, but, is that I don't get bored of trying this experiment on some other ant then; I don't know what tells me the next ant is going to be the perfect apparatus for my experiment. Lately, I have progressed to Stage Two - it's harder but I get two ants under the same cap. I just hope they turn out to be of opposite genders, I want my experiments to reap tangible results. So far, well, this too has been an exercise in futility.

Also, I've found a new interest idling around on the internet, that of cyber-pedantry. And like other pedant friends, I am also willing sportingly to be a prey of this pedantry, as much as I like being the poacher. So I request readers, if there are any, to please bring the linguistic errors, and there'll be many, you find on this page to my notice and get a thank-you in return.

Yesterday was a very special day. I met an old friend, Sumit, after a long long gap. But obviously, what made it special was that it was the first time in my life that I drank a tiny cup of coffee obnoxiously priced at ninety Rupees, and for a moment it did feel like - 'now that's some achievement'. Sumit, meanwhile, was busy taking pictures there, pretty depressed that no permutation of views from our table could accommodate him having a sip, and the Barista trademark in the background, simultaneously. He's got a thing for taking snaps in places he's usually not supposed to be found. Also, I was quite tempted to try their exclusive one which was priced at around double this amount to take the sense of achievement to unparalleled heights, but my wallet ensured that I avoided such misadventures for the time being. Post placements, hopefully.

Birthday Blog

At this time of the year, three years ago, I had started writing on this blog. I realise I never noticed when it turned one and two, and that I noticed it at this time of its having completed three years is also entirely a matter of incidence. But however much I may be forgetful in observing its anniversaries, I unabashedly claim that I value it as much as any of my prized possessions, and that I love my conversations with this blog more than I'd probably love conversing with the most beautiful women on earth.

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One colleague of mine tells me one needs to just dump the 'be yourself' principle if one is to have any chance of achieving success or popularity. I resent this not, not on his face at least, for he is absolutely entitled to having his own opinions. But I ask myself, supposing his opinion has a dash of truth in it, if being lesser-known or only-mildly-successful is a price too big to pay for the freedom that we enjoy on being ourselves. But then, he might retort with an argument questioning the value we should place on freedom vis-à-vis popularity, and then again we shall be on two different sides; so I think I did the right thing by passing it off apathetically in the first place.

****************

In the aimcat, I did pretty well. Darn it! I wanted to do outstandingly well. If there were no internet, I'd have known the scores only of my friends and acquaintances and I think I would've been terribly happy with myself on having exceeded everyone; but alas, there is internet and it has a knack of keeping you down when you most want to jump.

****************

The training is going good, and the experience is worth it. A light work load, still ample learning, but the cake is that it has served to evoke that long forgotten childlike curiosity about learning new things. Pumps, and boilers, and fire-fighting - after studying about them superficially from the textbooks, understanding their working live is gratifyingly complementary. Strange, but it has actually changed my perception about things I deemed utterly boring.

****************

I sometimes think how Mummy-Papa don't seem to take any note of how I have drastically cut down on hanging out and all. I think all that this has served is upping the benchmarks. Now if I get back to old ways, probably that will instantly be taken note of. Oddly enough, I don't quite miss old-ways all that much. H'm, sometimes I do.

For once

It's the first time I am into anything remotely professional - The industrial training. I am doing it from NTPC, they've got an unimaginably huge campus with numerous workshops and factories - from coal generation, to coal-water plants to .. Ok not very fancy stuff, I concede. But I like it nonetheless.

There at the coaching institute, a new batch has been merged with ours. Some new intimidating creatures have crept in, much to my discomfort as I had comfortably fallen half asleep in the previous batch and had started taking my uno position for granted. Now some of these overambitious guys who have just come really unsettle me and it's hard to maintain calm and complacence simultaneously.

To add to that, the mockcats have arrived. I'd love to regain lost ground with this one, and for a change I am not the timid who says - "I am keeping my fingers crossed". I am well aware I have to outperform people. And that's what (*) I am going to do. Lot of work to do right now, but obviously, will be done.

When I reached this point "(*)" of the post I thought for ten minutes whether I should be writing the five words following it. The way I have been, I was overtly cautious if writing that wouldn't be being overtly brash. But I am glad I went ahead and wrote them. For being overtly brash is any day better than being overtly cautious. There's no energy associated with over-cautiousness I believe. While I, am going to need some.

“To be a great champion you must believe you are the best. If you’re not, pretend you are.” ––Muhammad Ali

Lives, media, society

Normally I don’t touch upon sensitive issues on this space. There’s no special reason for it, probably I am just not sensitive enough. The one sensitive issue that has created quite a stir of late is the enigma surrounding the murder of Delhi schoolgirl Arushi Talwar.

And then, there are the very active internet as well as light-a-candle campaigns which want the girl’s case to reach its right conclusion and pray for her soul to rest in peace. Very noble indeed, and it does show people do come together if there’s a reason for it; and doubts about neo-solidarity are only figments of a few pessimists’ prophesies. I pray for her peace, I join them in their campaign, I so wish it hadn’t happened.

Infact, what I want to write about is not how bad what occurred was – I don’t need to say what happened was very unfortunate; as for whodunit - I think I should better leave that to more able authorities the kind of which I believe there are many; and whether her Dad was or not the man who did it – I don’t know shit about it.

I don’t even remotely intend to take sides. ‘Papa, mummy ya Police ?’ is the kind of coverage that suits only the IndiaTV people. Nor am I the sophisticated NDTV who said they won’t cover this case until something concrete comes out of it. Their reasoning being the mental turmoil that the girl’s family has to cope with, due to this very public undressing of a very private affair.

The only point worth raising that occurs to me in fact is not one that stems from the murder, but one that stems from the hoopla that followed it. At the risk of sounding cynical, I want to put up a few questions. Have we forgotten that there was one Hemraj who also died that day? Why does it have to be called Arushi-murder-case across all TV channels? Why haven’t we prayed, at least as visibly, for the peace of Hemraj’s departed soul? How come Hemraj’s family, we never thought, is also equally capable be feeling turmoil?

After all, what determines the relative importance of one life against another? What does? Is it again – money?

My stance is evident from the questions themselves. Just in case.

Accurately Random

Rain Rain go away

Come again another day…

Isn't it raining like crazy? I mean, are we in Cherrapunji or what? An odd shower once in a while is great, but this! They haven't ceased falling for ages now! These days, when I leave my room for taking the exam, I press my last-minute notes close to my body even as I scroll through them restlessly. Some of these exams have been surprisingly tough and unexpected pattern per se. After so many years of routinely taking exams though, no surprise is surprising enough. A sort of mechanical urgency serves the purpose, and serving the purpose just about serves the purpose.

Quite unusually, I feel a little tired now. In what was behaviour highly uncharacteristic of me, two hours before today's exam I didn't feel like reading a word more for it. It obviously wasn't over-preparation. That I was under-prepared would be an understatement. How else, but then, can I put it? That I was thoroughly under-prepared would be an oxymoron. Anyhow, with two hours to spare and with ten hours worth of studying ideally still remaining to be done, how I could feel like setting it all aside is something beyond me. The exam, on top of it, wasn't much of a cakewalk - just to understate again. Though with the kind of pretext I just described, that's as much a surprise as the arrival of bhoots in Hindi horror films precisely at the opportune moment when the heroine hits the bathtub.

The fourth years are sticking it out here in the campus even after so many days having completed their exams. Perhaps it is nostalgia or one of its close kinfolk gripping them. I make no guarantee, but from how I feel, I think I'll run myself out of the campus at top speed the moment I write the last letter on the last test of my eighth semester exams. They, however, have taken much revived interest in having fun with their juniors. Though in this context, having fun refers to slapping obscenities at juniors. As a matter of chance, I have hitherto been out of this seemingly funny affair. I was never much in awe of any of my seniors, and this latest hobby of theirs just corroborates my stance. Having said that - one of the lines one of these seniors uses when a junior smiles uncomfortably while being 'interrogated' is a real gem: "saale hamare saamne daant mat dikha yaar, hamse toot jaate hain." Power Packed!

For pressing keys

It’s a good long twelve hour sleep I’ve just woken up from. Sleeping just seven hours a day for the last seven days, this one was inevitable. And for no particular reason, I felt like putting fingers on keyboard. Perhaps only because it had been a while I had felt the pressing of keys on my fingertips. Still, I can’t be entirely sure of why I am here. A cluster of newspapers lies unattended in front of me. HT City, I see, has altered its layout. It’s a pleasant change from The Hindu that I get in my room, whose supplements are all filled with classical musicians when they talk of music, theatre stalwarts when they talk of acting, or P Sainath and the league when they talk of the media biggies. You read it for a few days, and you just might become oblivious to the imposing presence of Shakira, Shahrukh or Rakhi Sawant, all of whom are otherwise all but ubiquitous. In a way it’s good too, the ‘The Hindu’ style of doing things, for it’s no national secret that our traditional folks – those carrying the weight of Indian culture on their shoulders by means of cinema, music and the likes – hardly get any popular representation on newspapers or TV. But then poor me, not having HT for days on end I had almost forgotten there is one Paris Hilton in this world too, who must have had some seductive antic up her sleeve by now, while I was busy reading about a nightingale Meeta Pandit in a stuffy room on the outskirts of Delhi.

I’ve had my share of fun of the key-finger milan for now I guess.

It's that time of the year again

Endsems in 2 days. Midsems results pleasantly surprising. Practicals too. Lost my admit card. Got to go to Police station. Reason - To lodge FIR so that I may get a duplicate issued. Theory exams dreaded. Friends started early. As usual. Now am feeling the heat. Big big course. Lot of work. Am not used to much hardwork. However, no other option now. No pains, No Gains.

Chalooon phir, thodi jaldi hai.

The Online Ennui

An atmosphere of dissatisfaction surrounds our present day social setting. And this is particularly true of the setting that exists only virtually, inside our very own fluffy computer set. Not all of them are fluffy though, especially now that sleek and stylish notebooks and laptops rule the roost. The new idiot box that it has come to be regarded as, together with internet – its enduring companion, would have us think that nothing’s really working for anyone. If life were a zero sum game as some game theorists would have us believe, then ‘it’s going trashy’ for a hundred people should translate into ‘it’s rocking’ for an approximately equal number. But from what is apparent, it is trash all over the park. Have we ever stopped to wonder why it’s a desert of woes with an occasional oasis of hope and not the other way round? If the desire for ‘other way round’ is foolish optimism, we could at least settle for a fifty-fifty which was so true of a time not long gone, couldn’t we? Even with that yardstick, the existing equation is alarmingly lopsided.

The trend can be seen amongst a wide array of people, cutting across boundaries of age, religion, location and gender. The young most prominently fall in its line, but the old and middle aged are not far behind. Everyone cosies up to their virtual avatar on the internet to seek solace and reassurance. It is available without much hardwork, and works in a way strikingly similar to our good old analgesics. Instant gratification notwithstanding, it makes one forget, even if fleetingly, that he’s any less, or that he’s not worth. The catch however remains – it’s virtual.

On social networking websites, on blogs, and on discussion forums – the writing is on the wall – we’re not very happy the way we are. It is a particularly intriguing category of gloom, the one that appears most widespread on the web. It is not a sadness of loss of job, it does not reflect an epidemic or extensive medical illness, it doesn’t give a picture of a hard-up man struggling to make ends meet, and no dear, it’s no love lost either. In fact, it is no clearly visible crisis, this one that seems to be ailing scores of us. As a basis, it is this absence of a distinctly defining explanation of this category of gloom, which sets it distinctly from others. Dissatisfaction comes close to describing it appropriately; boredom comes closer, and loneliness closest. But none of them quite captures it comprehensively.

As a case in point, consider blogs – although the content holds equally for other realms of the internet. Scores of amateur writers and hobbyists turn up regularly to give text to their thoughts and publish it for everyone to see. As has become a practice, one goes and appreciates fellow bloggers’ work – which, make no mistake, can at times really make the day for the one being appreciated. For he might never have guessed that something he mumbled out of sheer boredom and angst, something that took two minutes to prepare and publish could be hailed as a masterpiece or compared to the prudence of thought reserved as a label for the likes of William Wordsworth. The veracity of these lavished praises will however remain doubtful as long as the possibility of a hidden motive of being appreciated back on the part of the one who showered the praises can not be eliminated. And, umm, well, ok, it can’t be eliminated. Scratching backs is completely sanctioned here, and goodness, it’s rampant. Citing a personal experience here, the first and only time I went to a particular blog and commented on it off the cuff, the first thing I got back was an invitation to be part of their mutual appreciation circle wherein they shall appreciate whatever I write, in return for me appreciating theirs. The ‘invitation’ came in a tone of humorous disguise though; the one that signals: “If it’s taken positively – great! If not, then it’s just a joke.” This delusion, as I increasingly discovered, is getting so firmly embedded among avid netizens that they no longer consider how absurd receiving an admiration would be when you already know it’s under a contract, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. What kind of fulfilment can be derived out of it is beyond logical understanding, but it’s welcome as long as it comes. There, you see, is an anomaly, and it's only the proverbial drop in the ocean when seen in the larger perspective.

The one logical backing that I can think of for the thing I just referred to as an ‘anomaly’ is the neural circuitry that says ‘applause garners further applause’. People with a sub-urban and rural grounding would appreciate this principle more than others, for they must have seen halwais and street-food-hawkers deliberately getting bogus customers to surround their stalls, so that wandering souls would come flocking too, thinking of their stall as a popular food-haunt. This precept might have one tempted to beg, borrow, steal, or ‘make arrangements for’ some applause initially in the hope that more of it would eventually follow. Often it does. But quite often it doesn’t and we’re back to square one – more dissatisfaction and dejection, and higher levels of despondency than before. Even when it does the desired there still remains an iota of suppressed conscience trying to outburst, which even though might forever remain unable to actually burst out, but carries out the task of spoiling the unblemished gratification (that true appreciation otherwise gives) pretty effortlessly.

Now let us move out of the web for a change. Even though a leading radio station would want us to accept a frivolous report that considers Delhi-ites amongst the happiest people on earth, you don’t need to be a social scientist to be aware that in India’s capital city, cases of suicides have risen exponentially ever since the new millennium dawned on us. A more sombre fact that concerns is that for every suicide committed, there are nearly twenty attempted. Psychiatrists never had their bank accounts this bubbling, and spiritual healing has mushroomed into becoming a full fledged industry in itself. The problem however is that all this isn’t showing the results. The situation is only getting grimmer by the day, and it is there for all of us to see and fret. Don’t fret. Chose to ponder and make a dignified way out.

I would like to sneak in another personal experience at this point. Recently, a company that rewards the students it appoints with an initial remuneration of around Rupees Forty Lacs per annum, short listed one from my class for the final selection. Far from being proud or wishing that he makes it, their must have been a hundred silent prayers going up the heavens from my class-fellows themselves, all wanting that this guy doesn’t make the cut. Just for the record, eventually he didn’t. However, this leaves it very clear, that the students measured their own success based on how successful their peers are. Ponder closely, and you will find how absurd this line of thought is. The forty lacs dream job, for which you were already out of reckoning, will now not go to your mate who you also rivalled all these years. Reason to be content, it seems. But it won’t come to you either, and it will certainly go to some other guy now, only that you don’t know him. You’re still going to get your four lacs an year, but your mate didn’t get forty either congrats, but it’s not as though no one’s going to get it now, someone who’s not your mate is going to get the forty. Figure an anomaly here? There it is. Another drop in the ocean, one into which we must save ourselves from drowning. As long as we measure how rich or popular or accomplished we are according to how rich or popular or accomplished the guy we envy is, we are doomed to languish in our self made cocoons of frustration, grief, and general ennui. Because, at the end of the day, the guy we envy is invariably going to be better than we, isn’t that the reason we envy him in the first place ?

ILU ILU

Why should most of the stuff you write be about your past, or grow upon memories or just be ramblings of prudent hindsight; why should it be a thing from history most of the times, I asked myself today. Except that I chose not to answer it. Because to answer it would have meant more deliberation of the past, more of the same thing I was trying to caution myself against.

I found an old friend on the internet a few days ago. And for a moment it was like being transported to a time of fifteen years back. When phones still meant landlines, letters had not become obsolete, and wearing jeans with ‘Baazigar’ or ‘ILU ILU’ printed on them was a rage, at least among kids my age. And when it was still okay, for me, to tell a girl I loved her, and tell my Dad back home that I loved that girl, and all that without even knowing what love meant. All that I knew, for all I recollect, was that in the films the hero invariably loves a girl, and that I should be no less than a hero! It was truly wonderful to have caught up with him. I was only six then, but I remember every detail of the times I spent around him just like I remember what I had for lunch today. In fact, when I think of my lunch today, I don't go back to smelling it. But when I think of those times, I can sense the aroma of air so peculiarly characteristic of my junior school's staff room. Perhaps, at some point in my life I will also miss the hostel mess I so hated at one time, and about which I am entirely indifferent now. But then, don't you start missing everything that was once there, just because it was once there and it isn't now; rather irrespective of whether or not you liked it when it was there ? H'm anyway I will never be sure if it brought about a similar cheer in his disposition also, but from the looks of it he seemed as happy as I had been. The regrouping didn’t intensify to live to its initial promise, and that's quite alright, really. The short gush of overflowing simplicity of days that have gone by, was more than worth-it in itself.

Simplicity, well almost! I remember there was one thing I had found particularly complex back then. It's like yesterday, when we were told to write a paragraph on 'My Mother'. What did I know, that just like mine the respective mothers of the other thirty odd students also happened to be the 'best mother in the whole world', and that too with such certainty that this was put forth in the first line of everyone's paragraph, without exception. And hey I thought I was told there could be only one 'best' ! Well, that was the first of the innumerable contradictions I was to discover in the many subsequent years of my education, and also one that remains etched in my memory more compellingly than all others because it told me contradictions needn't be untrue, in fact they could be more true than accepted truths.

Ah ! I had cautioned myself against retrospection just at the beginning of the post and as it turns out, I filled the whole of my post with it. Now I feel I typify incorrigibility, and I had better tell myself not to study, in order that I actually end up studying.

Title kal tak batata hoon soch ke

I was reading some old posts on my own blog today. Although it only reaffirmed by unfailing trust in that I had always been writing non-sense, yet I could make out that I have started taking myself way too seriously over the last year. And there wasn't a need for it. I mean, why ? I still get the same pocket money, I am still in the same college, still without a suppli, still single and .. Also, in one previous post I read I had written none of my friends were single any longer. I thought I must have been quite dejected then but I should cheer up as even that's not the scene now, since I made new friends who were single, and made Mayawati like faces at those who were no longer and they ran away frightened. Back to the topic, I could see this change to a more stern disposition in everything. The way I take care of punctuation marks bein at the rite places ,that I particlarly make it a point to uses grammar of highest standard, and not under any circumstances should I make use of slang or lingo in my posts lolz, and spellings - my God as if thay are the most important thing on arth ! No but, why ?? Why should everything be that orderly. Ok it's a good thing to keep it right, but to be obsessed with it, that’s just too much. As if I make a mistake and my folks will pack me off to work in Sivakasi. Jaa tu vahin reh, patake phod. Ok forget the semantics of language, I started questioning myself way too much. The way these recent posts have been, I wrote moronic loser-ish things like 'Why can't I perform better?', 'Why can't I set things right?'. Eeek. In contrast, earlier I'd have written, 'I can't perform any better', or 'I can't set a cow straight' . Seriously, what was the need of that why. Without it, see, it means the same thing and still exudes so much more confidence. Similarly, 'why can't I look better' is hundred times more foolish than 'I look horribly-terribly-loathsomely ugly, and you would wanna spit on me if you didn’t take your lessons in decency from Simi Grewal.' Be clear, yaar, and unambiguous, I told myself on reading all that.

Anyhow, forget it. If morning's bhoola comes back to home in the evening, then we don't call him bhoola. (<- bhi="" bill="" call="" chahe="" clinton="" do="" hai="" him="" kisi="" lena="" mera="" original="" p="" pooch="" se="" we="" ye="">

Yesterday, in my coaching centre our maths sir said in the class, ''If you are studying regularly, you might just or might not get through. If you aren't, you certainly wont.'' I don't know why I have this strange hunch as though he said that specifically for me, while the others also happened to be sitting in the class at the time. But then I know, he addressed the entire class, but still I feel as if he was talking to me. Paranoia. Just like Chor ki daadhi mein tinka. (<- -="" a="" ab="" about="" all="" also="" and="" anyways="" araam="" as="" auto="" back="" banda="" bas="" before="" bete="" better="" bhi="" bit.="" blog="" boooooring="" calm="" case.="" chahta="" chalo="" coming="" confidence="" cursed="" dad="" de="" dedicated.="" didn="" don="" down="" eight="" eyes="" five="" for="" from="" grudgingly="" had="" hai="" hain.="" have="" he="" heard="" him="" ho.="" hundred="" i="" imaandar="" immediately="" in="" it.="" it="" itna="" jab="" just="" kar="" karte="" know="" ko="" koi="" lacking="" le.="" leave="" lekin="" life="" like="" maana="" manmohan="" me="" memorised="" memorizing="" moist="" much="" must="" my="" myself.="" na="" newspaper.="" newspaper="" now="" of="" one="" original="" p="" padhna="" paper="" picked="" picture="" presented="" problems="" quite="" read="" readers="" really="" rehne="" replayed="" rickshaw="" s="" saying="" scared="" scene="" see="" sentence="" seriously="" sight="" since="" singh="" sized="" so="" soon="" specially="" started="" still="" surprised="" t="" tang="" taxi="" tell="" than="" that="" the="" then.="" then="" they="" this="" thoda="" thodi="" though.="" times="" to="" today="" twenty="" up="" ve="" waiting="" was="" which="" with="" woke="" words="" wrote.="" you="">

Gotta Go now. The tooths are needing the brushing of their selfs.

The blog remains afloat ..

I say I am not that good not because I don't think I am good. It is because I think it's bad manners to claim one's credentials by one's own words. At the same time, doubts abound in my mind if such a behaviour of mine is only but hypocrisy. May be it is. But won't the converse behaviour be pompous. The choice is between hypocrisy and vanity. The choice is between a punch from Sunny Deol and a kiss from Johny Lever. Can't blame myself for being confused.

I usually don't help others, even with things I can. If asked, I do. But at least, I never offer help myself. Even when I know the other person could do well with my help, and sometimes even screw up without it. It is because I feel, offering help to a person is in some ways assuming your superiority on the matter without that person having had acknowledged it. You might be well meaning, but it could get, for the other person, demeaning. I fear being mistaken for condescending behaviour too much, for me to try being helpful. I could let it at that and be happy, but can't. Something in me wants to help when I am dead sure my help would do it for them. Something in me, stops me.

These are just two, and probably the less important ones, of the confusions that outline my existence. I have as many as five long posts, unpublished, between the last posted one and this. I attribute them, and their unpublished status, to some more confusions. And then there are the bigger ones. Increasingly, I am discovering, that I am rich only in my confusions. I sense I am not as sharp now as I was perhaps a few months back. The bigger confusions have taken the larger share of the outdated pentium-II processor in my mind, and there's no memory unluckily even for the recycle bin here.

I'm hopeless. I had promised myself I won’t be maudlin on the blog anymore, but ended up following the drift. Anyhow, I coined a new name for flatulence meanwhile. When one of my old school friends ripped one off when a few of us got together the other day, I asked him if he ever gave a damn to global warming. The other guys, obviously not him, found it so funny they have almost entirely replaced 'global warming' for 'fart' in their usage, I hear. I think the reason they liked it was that it looks more sophisticated and you can show you've not been a student of science for nothing. Think of it as giving something to peers, now this should make me happy.

Happy Holi ! Got to scratch-remove the dirt and grease now. Oh shit it's all over the keyboard now! Aaj tak saaf tha, barso se ise Colin se jo saaf kar raha hoon. Ab fir karunga.

TAG

Here's the tag.

1. A book that made you laugh: Many. In bits and pieces, I've laughed at many sentences from many books. But if I were to name one book which had the most stylish humour, it has to be Catch-22.

2. A book that made you cry: None, actually.

3. A book that scared you: Haven't read any (scary ones).

4. A book that disgusted you: Many. , 'The Fountainhead' - disgusted me right from the preface, its popular run being a fine example of how good publicity can affect one's perception of books, 'India: What it can Teach Us'- for the super-bore it was; some more you wouldn't want to know about.

5. A book you loved in elementary school: I wasn't quite reading books when I was in Elementary school, for as much as I can remember. Of course, I liked Billu and Pinky comics, and was a big fan of Chacha Choudhary, a fascination for whom I grew even before I started attending any school, elemantary or whatever. To let a little secret out, I could read and infer sentences before I stepped into any school or pre school or play school or whatever we call it, and it was largely thanks to these comics.

6. A book you loved in middle school or junior high school: H'm I can recollect having a liking for one particular Mickey Mouse book, the exact name of which I'd have to check and see. Also, the Ninja Turtles series - in some parts, not a big fan of it, on second thoughts. And some stories of the Short story compilation called 'Malgudi Days'. And I loved looking at the Atlas a lot, if that qualifies.

7. A book you loved in high school: I was thoroughly impressed with Premchand's short stories. So two of his compilations 'Premchand ki Sarvshreshtha Kahaniyaan' and 'Premchand ki Lokpriya Kahaniya' were among my favourites of those times. Also, I liked his novel 'Gaban' a lot. For some strange reason, I liked 'The Bachelor of Arts' more than any other of Narayan's more acclaimed novels.

8. A book you loved in college: 'The Stranger', without a doubt, before any other. Others that I've loved are Catch 22, The Google Story, The Argumentative Indian, iCon, The Idle Thoughts, and some more.

9. A book that challenged your identity: None. Though many contributed, and introduced new dimensions to my identity, none challenged it.

10. A series that you love: I haven't read any series, except the comics that I told you about, and

some magazines. No books.

11. Your favourite science fiction book: Haven't read any.

12. Your favourite fantasy: Haven't read any.

13. Your favourite mystery: Haven't read any.

14. Your favourite biography: 'The Boys' Life of Edison.'

15. Your favourite "coming of age" book: I don't know what that means.

16. Your favourite classic: 'The Stranger', again. Also, 'The Fall', 'Catch-22' and 'The Catcher in the Rye' also up there among my favourites, again.

17. Your favourite romance book: Haven't read any.

I am not much of a popular fiction/genre fiction fan. Literary does it for me.

Since the only one I could hope to complete the tag if I tagged, is one who actually tagged me with this in the first place, I tag no one in particular. Goes without saying, anyone who wants to pick it up from here, please pick it up.

aise hi

We had the first mock test today and it was quite a wake up call for me. The results though aren't out; I don't think I have reason to be satisfied. Even if it turns out to be a good performance relative to others after the results get declared, I'd still be disappointed since I know I could have done much much better than this. In contrast, I'd have been much happier even with a lower percentile but only if I could say to myself that I gave my best. On second thoughts, no I am happier only this way. Lest God will choose the other way for me – work more, score less wala. Like the last time (last post) I caught fever. This way it’s fine. Just make me, Oh god, a little more hardworking. Please Please.

And I've become quite an addict of facebook apps. Ever since I joined it the other day, I have played endless number of quizzes and games on it both of the non and cognitive variety. It is quite an addiction, whhooop – I just keep seeing one game or quiz after another, tempted to try all of them, wasting a lot of time in the process, and consoling myself with the affirmation that I’d have wasted that time anyway. But time is limited, and .. oops .. it’s limited, so bye. I’ll play a few more quizzes and shut down.

शिक़ायत पेटी

Really need to get things into order now. It's like being a laaton ka bhoot. I've been some months into this coaching thing now but truth be told, haven't even begun with solving the study material they gave me. It's a really guilt-inducing thing, being wrong while being aware of being wrong. I've made some really ambitious plans now, and just hope that I stick to them for some time until the rhythm sets in, because I feel it is always easy to follow through once you get your rhythm or flow.

One more thing that is and has been troubling me to some extent over the past few weeks is this stubborn acne problem that I caught about four or five months back. And its just not going away. I know it feels kind of odd to admit a thing as trivial as acne is troubling you, as though you've got no better things to think about, but it really is. Honestly, I don't think any personal discomfort of an individual level has bugged me as much as it has. Fevers and all, they make you a little gloomy, but this thing makes you particularly irritable and generally unenthusiastic. Add to that, that you do not feel like going out or meeting people all that much, and it takes considerably larger dimensions than just dots on the skin.

Apart from that, life is pretty smooth. We're having the usual fun in the hostel, that does start getting monotonous once in a while, but then you can't complain about every goddamn thing in the world.

Added later : As it turns out, within hours of writing down this piece, fever grips me. These days God just needs the slightest clue. ''Hell yeah, fever's better eh ? Take it.''

:(

Bicycles

When I rode a bicycle as a child and then as an early teenager, I saw a lot of bicycles around me. When I rode a bicycle, bicycles were important things. I saw a large number of people riding their own, it made me wonder why the elder people don't ride it swashbuckling swiftly the way I did. Probably they underestimated their bicycle's thrill value, was what I often concluded to myself. Then I stopped using one. And before I could realise, or more appropriately, pay any heed, they were gone. They weren't to be seen in schools, or in college streets. They weren't even thought about, except in irritation when some sluggishly moving bicycle with an old man on top of it, or a trembling one ridden by a kid, either hindered my speed or blocked my way for a second; and I thought of them as mere nuisance for those, like me, on their respective vehicles out for some real, valuable, get-things-done work. So, effectively, I didn't want to think about them when I thought about them, and for the most part I actually didn't think about them. They were as if they were not. Today, as I was walking down a road after my own assessment of people having had stumped me, I was quite unsure of myself, actually still am. For a while it was as if all strong opinions I had formed in these years were falling down on me after having completed their way up against gravity. I was unsure of the wisdom I always thought I was only too comfortable with. A bomb alert at that time wouldn't perhaps have diverted my mind from my own perplexity, but after I sat down on the pavement I saw a bicycle travel inches from me at great speed. I somehow felt that this kid looked like I did, but was even more sure that this feeling would also turn out to be another absurd figment of my chimera, that I had started trusting over these years. Lazily I turned my head towards it when it was already three cricket pitches from me, and frankly I hardly cared. I turned back again, and a few bicycles passed over again. I stood up, and about-turned to see as far in the horizon as I could, to figure how many more are there coming at me, and there were scores. More than the cars, or the motorbikes. I could instantly see that they were always there, had always been. I could sense that I had grown oblivious, though 'grown' wouldn't be apt to use here. Whilst my cultivated wisdom should have made me more aware, it made me slightly the other way. And I wish I don't become oblivious to bikes when I graduate to cars. Being unsure, ironically, has always taught me more than being sure and confident.

holidayendingpost.edu

Today is the last day of the holidays. Tomorrow onwards its back to hostel and mess and college and all. Since it was the last day I thought I'd update the blog once more, I tend to blog a lot more frequently during holidays, I notice. Don't know, maybe because I have very little to be engaged with otherwise during holidays. Truth be told, I am one of those guys to whom listening to things like 'wonderfully written' gives a great kick, but then, to whom it doesn't. Everyone would like to discover that in their rants was hidden a spectacular philosophical treasure. Its like going to an astrologer all depressed and tired and getting to know all of a sudden that the grihas at your time of birth are ones that repeat only after thousands of years, each time to see the birth of a polymath and stuff, and the last time such griha combinations happened was when Lord Krishna was born. So I thought I'd make one last try at being lord Asaaramji.

Today I went to college for the registration for this semester, where I met many of my classmates after about forty days. Its always a good sight seeing your classmates after so many days. Even during school days, I was always eager to see them after the summer vacations and all, I don't know what inside me made me think that a lot must have changed in these guys in these 40-50 days. And even after all these years of repeatedly finding out that no such Johny Lever to John Abraham change is possible in this much time, I still look forward to it. Habits die hard, really. One of my friends was visibly depressed there. Not the unhappy kind of depressed, but the not-happy kind of depressed. I mean when you're supposed to smile and all when someone wishes you Ooyey happy new year, he just remained blank as if he's just been yawned at. And after a pause added a hardly audible 'you too' that ended before it started. Then I prodded him, out of habit, to know what was troubling him. You know I get a bang out of asking people why are they so badly down and depressed, when they aren't actually all that depressed; because being asked this makes them all the more depressed.

'Who's down, me??'', he said faking amazement.

'I thought, you know..'.

"Who told you to think? Don't strain your knees." Boy, he was down.

"Okay if you don't want to tell, Ranjana was asking, but who cares"

"What did she ask?"

" Nothing, duffer. You thought she really asked. You really believed that, did you." and I deliberately followed it up with a big sarcastic laugh.

" You know what, I've made no 'progress'. Holidays wasted." Its funny that people tell you what it is only after you stop asking them what it is.

" Shake hands bhai, no progress here either, didn’t study a word." I added just to incite him further.

" Shut up, you know what I mean.", he replied. He'd have licked the books all month anyway. And after a brief pause he went on to add," S*****t, I am a loser."

You know you are a loser when you start telling your friends you are loser, expecting them to reply by saying that you aren't a loser. You know that they are being polite, but that politeness is all you want for that fleeting moment.

And then I replied," No, you aren't a loser" :)

Just as he started to look relieved, I feared that he might have actually believed me when I said he wasn't a loser, and added," You don't need to worry too much about it yaar. You know you are far better any day". I shouldn't have been lying all that much, that too right in the beginning of the year.

"Do I look like I care", he retorted. He looked like it was all he ever cared for.

"No dude you don't, at all".

And then I saw for the first time signs of true relief on his face. I don't know what it is about these guys nowadays. You try to lift them up, they pounce back at you. You call them dude, you lift their mood.

Anyway, enough for now.

Just like that

Vacations are good times. Actually all times are good times. In the beginning though, we show resistance to any change but slowly carve our comfort with it, start liking it, until the next change comes, and then we resist that change and so on. Like when exams just got over and vacations had just started, I didn't like the idea. But now, after slowly getting used to the blasé being, I wonder if I'll be able to cope up with the routine-bound life once college reopens. Of course I will be, just like every semester, but still those apprehensions. Just when I've slowly started liking the slow life, a change comes up! College reopens in 3-4 days and I am like Nooooo, the way you do as a 1st standard student, only that I don't do it in real, I just think of doing it.

Noooo brings me to Taare Zameen Par, which I went to watch yesterday with Mummy. Words will fail me if I sit down to describe how much I loved the film. You don't expect pretentiously tough twenty one year olds to be sitting and crying in a cinema hall, which I actually didn't, but certainly would have a number of times if Mummy wouldn't have been around. Even then, it was a tough task for me to control the rush. Both Ishan played by Darsheel Safary and Nikumbh Sir the character played by Aamir were extremely likeable, obviously for the purity that Nikhumb Sir and Ishan exude, but also struck a deep chord with me as, people, or just cinematic characters you'd unusually identify with. I often heard people talk about such and such character they could identify really with, but could never truly understand what they meant by that. I got a feel of what they meant for the first time when I saw Swades. In certain parts where Mohan Bhargav is this reflective, guilt-prone, vulnerable self, coexisting in others with someone who thinks of shielding the susceptible and has fun with those who don't, in his own little way. Paradoxical to some extent, but true to a larger. Yes Swades is one of my favourite films; and now Taare Zameen Par, after a very lOng time a film that set me thinking, reflecting, and agitating within too.

There are many sensations that happen to you and you feel like asking every single person if that happened to them as well, only that you never actually get down to asking people. If I list my questions of that variety it'll perhaps need a full post to itself, but the reason I am putting it up now is because a scene from TZP just flashed beneath my eyelids. There's this scene in which Ishan moves around, disillusioned, on the roads outside his school, staring at random things and thinking about them, and remaining disillusioned all along. I did that a lot as a child. I don't know any other person in my life who gets such fits of near insanity walking on the roads. I still do that daily when I leave for a long slow stroll after dinner every night. But it is different now than it was as a child. Now I worry whether I appear a c…..a this way, or should I be impervious to it even if I do, and some more insignificant, extraneous doubts other than the one that made me look, stare, glare as a doubter. As you grow old, you're no longer certain in your doubts. Ironically, you doubt your doubts and are not faithful to them. Coming back, so seeing Ishan in that particular scene made me think that Ok yes now there's someone with whom this happens. Maybe not Ishan, may be the writer Amole Gupte, or maybe Aamir, the director. With whom is anyway irrelevent, but I knew for sure that it does.

And Why does English slander like fucked-up-slob,f..u, f..er, invite far less scrown than their Hindi counterparts, which mean pretty much the same, and sometimes provide a more appropriate description than any other word ? I've stopped mulling over this, for a change, now. After all, double standards are the order now, and who ever said it shouldn't be.

Added Later : Yeah, the kid who played Rajan Damodaran also deserves a special mention. If I were the jury, I'd be confused between Darsheel and Aamir for the best actor in the leading role category, but wouldn't take a minute to decide whom I'll vote my best supporting actor as. This boy.

My defence against being different

This notion of being different, I notice, has gained mass popularity amongst GenX/Y/Z/iGen or whatever it is being called these days. So much so, that the impetus behind a lot of actions that the youth around me embarks on is provided solely by the motivation to be different, to appear distinctively from the norm. Being different, as such, is misunderstood by many as the path that will lead to higher platforms. The character of backing your instincts to follow your dreams even if it takes you away from the well worn path, is truly wonderful and appreciable. But clear distinction must me made between this virtue and that of purposely rejecting a path because it is well worn and doing something out of the box for the sake of being different. Unfortunately, it is this brand of 'being different', that has found widespread acceptance.

To clearly express my defence against it, I must first state the argument of those for it. I am often told, and often I read about the remarkable success of some distinguished personalities based upon how different they were. And it makes me crazy - firstly the immature analysis behind such statements and secondly the silly instant acceptance of it. That people like Edison, Einstein, or even Steve Jobs were and are great men is absolutely true. And so is the fact that they were different. And so is the fact that this difference was what put them so distinctly ahead. But to conclude from this 'to be great, be different' is as immature as saying that the Silicon Valley will do great business this year since guavas had a good yield last year in Orrisa. So to say, it makes no sense. True that they were different, but if difference was all there was to it, then even the drunkard who drinks all day on the road should be great on the grounds of being different. Precisely speaking, it wasn't the existence of a difference that mattered, but what that difference actually was, an intricacy often ignored in today's glossy reporting. Its not about whether you are different from the others, its about what is it that sets you apart. If being different in itself was a criterion then everyone should have had some claim to prominence, since no two individuals are ever identical. So when I see people with their usernames that read like Name - be different, or XYZ - not in the norm, minor concerns arise in my consciousness as to whether this person actually understood the meaning behind it or got carried away by some irresponsible but fascinating portrayal of the same.

That this concern is not completely unwarranted, is certain. How else can one explain the fact that people, young educated guys and girls from cities like Delhi and Mumbai, are part of online communities that Hail Hitler, those which say Dawood Ibrahim is a genius, and those which say Secularism sucks. Perhaps a minute percentage of their members truly believe in these ideas (that no one with a sound brain would), but to believe that all of them actually endorse such ideas after a well thought internal deliberation, defies all common sense. It is very clear, that the desire to 'appear' different propels a majority of such apparently rebellious memberships.

On a lighter and different note, am I wrong in assuming that 'different' is one of the most inappropriately and overused words in the English language? All across Orkut, I see testimonials and about-me's that claim the person to be such a 'different' person, that it makes me wonder if ninety percent of the people are 'different', then what's different about being different.

Tagged!

I am doing a tag today because Lavender tagged me. This is my second tag. This was the first one about an year and a half ago. I hope I've got saner with time, lets see. So without any further ado, lets get started.

1.Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it ? Yes actually I got sort of carried away the other day with that Russian lass entering the Metro. Aaah! It still hurts, she had such long pointed nails.

2. What does your phone look like ?

It looks like Katrina Kaif. Happy?

3.What is on the walls of your bedroom?

I don't have a bedroom specifically to myself. So I lay down in any of the rooms, and all of them have different things on their walls. Anyway, my hostel room has the following things on its walls :

a) Cracks

b) paint stacks breaking out

c) my shoeprints

d) dead bodies- (c) and (d) are inter-related. My shoes kill the mosquitoes on the walls.

e) Lizards

f) Spiders and Spider nets

g) Big cracks

4. What is your current desktop picture?

Currently, it is Mahatma Gandhi. Actually changed it only yesterday. Before that it was Mother Teresa. Preceding it were pictures of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, Nelson Mandela, Al Gore, Bharat Mata, Sai Baba, Lord Rama and family, Asaaramji Bapu, Sudhanshu Ji Maharaj, Baba Ramdev, Hope you got the drift. I am not one of those perverts who keep all that 'haaa ji'/'chhee' stuff as their wallpapers. Really I am not. I am one of those perverts who keep them in a hidden folder.

5.Do you believe in gay marriage?

What's there to believe in. If two men tell me that they got married, so its obviously a gay marriage, and I have no reason to believe they are lying. So yes, I believe in gay marriages. So to say, I FIRMLY believe in gay marriages. Otherwise, how will he, I mean, how will we.. Ooops! I am not supposed to tell you all that.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?

I want gay marriages to be legalised in India. I've heard migration to Netherlands and Canada is a tough task indeed.

7. Are your parents still together?

Yeah, still together. Vaise what was the need of this 'still' in the question. 'Are your parents together?' would have meant the same thing, minus the amazement at parents being together. Its like saying - Uff abhi tak saath hain tumhare maa baap, bade old fashioned hain yaar. Must have been an American who made this tag. Could have been a member of the Kasauti Zindagi Kay teleserial family too, I am not sure.

8. Last person who made you cry?

Myself. No one else can. Exceptions include Uday Chopra and Tushar Kapoor. But I have been cleverly avoiding them of late.

9. What is your favourite perfume/cologne ?

Ooooooh how much I've waited for this question to be put up to me. I always saw this question in those glossy magazines where every one had so many new names to tell, I wondered how much people research to get down to the perfume type most suited to them. So my answer is 'Elizabeth Arden's Daytona 500'!! Impressive naa ? I picked it up from Nana Patekar's interview, or was it Mithun Chakraborty's ?

10. What are you listening to?

Nagging from Mummy. I didn't take a bath yesterday. And today's just not that kind of a day you'd like to leave your blanket you know. But she doesn't understand all that. Today I am thinking of taking a bath in Daytona 500 itself, so that she doesn't complain for the rest of the vacations.

11. Do you get scared of the dark?

I get scared even when dogs bark, let alone dark. When our tubelight fluctuates - I am like [:)] -> [:(] -> [:)] -> [:(] -> [:)] -> [:(] -> [:))] bach gaye! Jai Shri Ram!

12. Do you like pain killers?

Oh yes I like them a lot. They are just soooo lovely. Aren't they soooo seductive, with their silvery metallic covering, so lustrous and shiny, ooooooh. Look I am getting turned on already. Oh Combiflam!! My darling, where are you ? I have a secret crush on Rofecoxib also. Sssshh don't you tell anyone.

13. Are you too shy to ask someone out ?

Actually yes. I can't even say a hyper happy Hiiiiiieee! A 'Hi' is all I am capable of. Also, I am too shy to ask someone to get out, if that was what the question intended to ask.

14. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

Daal baati ? But that's because I don't eat non veg on Thursdays.

15. Who was the last person who made you mad?

He made me mad. The way he glanced at me and immediately turned his eyes the other way. And then again leered at me until I caught him… oops I am not supposed to tell you all that. No one made me mad, haan nahi to!

16. Who was the last person who made you smile?

Myself!! I have been so proud of my answers here! I have already patted my back a thousand times answering these questions! Arre waah S*****t, tu toh kamaal hai , tu toh Raju Srivastava hai, tu yeh hai , tu voh hai, bhai waah, chhaa gaya, shabaash, and all that. What a self obsessed smug am I !?! So much that my back is aching now after all that patting. Nooo, I will not take the bath now. Nooooo!

17. Is someone in love with you ?

My parents love me a lot, my brother too, yeah grandparents too, one of my uncles surely! Yeah, that much. On those lines ? Oh no one's romantically inclined and all that. Wait a minute, maybe he is !