Ek sirf humhi mai ko
Aankhon se pilaatein hain....
(It's only I who can make people/you drink alcohol through the eyes)
Kehne ko to duniya mein
Mai-khaane hazaaron hain....
(For the sake of saying it, there are many establishments for alcohol in the world..)
Translation is murder. But this is for Divi, my louve. And my other conscious love, who first brought these brilliant lines to my attention, and seduced me with not just her eyes :)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
| You Are a Snarky Blogger! |
 You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of. And that's why they read your posts as often as they can! |
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The White Queen: Can you do addition? What's one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?
Alice: I don't know. I lost count.
I thought I was good at math. Somewhere along the way, I lost count too. Of what, though?
The Duchess: Be what you would seem to be -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall..
Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.
The Cat: Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here.
This is crap. Don't look for a thread of reason. There isn't one.
Alice: I don't know. I lost count.
I thought I was good at math. Somewhere along the way, I lost count too. Of what, though?
The Duchess: Be what you would seem to be -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall..
Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.
The Cat: Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here.
This is crap. Don't look for a thread of reason. There isn't one.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Ask him to find me an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Between the salt water and the sea-strand,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
Ask him to plough it with a lamb's horn,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And sow it all over with one peppercorn,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
Ask him to reap it with a sickle of leather,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And gather it up with a rope made of heather,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
When he has done and finished his work,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Ask him to come for his cambric shirt,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Oh, Let me know that at least you will try,
Or you'll never be a true love of mine.
Love imposes impossible tasks,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
But none more than any heart would ask,
I must know you're a true love of mine.
If you're listening, please come. I'm tired. Very close to losing heart. Not to mention bored. Please.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Between the salt water and the sea-strand,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
Ask him to plough it with a lamb's horn,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And sow it all over with one peppercorn,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
Ask him to reap it with a sickle of leather,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And gather it up with a rope made of heather,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
When he has done and finished his work,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Ask him to come for his cambric shirt,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Oh, Let me know that at least you will try,
Or you'll never be a true love of mine.
Love imposes impossible tasks,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
But none more than any heart would ask,
I must know you're a true love of mine.
If you're listening, please come. I'm tired. Very close to losing heart. Not to mention bored. Please.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
On The Rim
I didn't realize how apt the name of my blog was till this morning. Was lazing around at home, as is usual during vacations..and it suddenly occured to me that there are hundreds of things I need to think out. Like plan my internships, think over my exam which I have to write on the 24th, start doing basic research for the moot, plan out my diet, discuss some things about college and work and future with my parents, find out some things..and I realized how much I procrastinate with respect to these issues.
Even since college has begun, I never really allow myself to settle down in either place, be it home or college. When I'm in college I'm always looking forward to getting home and chilling, and when I'm home, I keep putting off things I really need to work out in my head till I get to college. I don't know when I became so much of an escapist. Somewhere along the line, I've become so underconfident about being up to facing a problem and coming out on the winning side that I've started ignoring problems altogether. It's not like they don't catch up with me, but whenever they do, I just take an ad hoc decision and forget about the whole thing. It's really weird- this isn't what I used to be like. And I've really missed out on a lot in the last two and a half years because of this. I need to settle down. Breathe. And think, and take decisions. Focus. And live the life that's currently on play. Stop running from one place to another in my head. Maybe I should try meditating. And I really should lose weight.
I'm gonna do both from today. Just after this last little nap. I've gotta get down, plunge deeper, stop being the rim-person that I've become. I suppose this entry would've been more apt for a very personal journal. But I don't keep one. And I don't really care if people see this. So there. I will stop floating today. Just after this little nap.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Home again
A non-whiny blog entry is what I'm attempting here. Cuz believe it or not, right now, I'm perfectly perfectly happy. I'm at home..it's the first day, so no troubles have begun yet. We're going out for dinner tonight..a belated birthday celebration. Reminds me of those days in Bombay..dinners with the family every other week. It's kinda funny you know.. the days when you've got a smaller house, not so much money, crunches here and there..those are really the nicest days. I suppose it's because those are the days you have time for people.
I love it this way also, though. Nostalgia's one thing. The present's pretty ok today. And I'm savouring every moment. This is probably my last every vacation. The next few will be busy. And then I'll have to start working. Wow!
Sooo..life's good. No work. Nothing to worry about in the near future. I feel light and free (I sound like a shady girly song now). Sipping the tea and having besan ka halwa (you must try it if you haven't had it). Just doing my thing. Taking in the feeling of being home. Being content. Aah..:-)
I love it this way also, though. Nostalgia's one thing. The present's pretty ok today. And I'm savouring every moment. This is probably my last every vacation. The next few will be busy. And then I'll have to start working. Wow!
Sooo..life's good. No work. Nothing to worry about in the near future. I feel light and free (I sound like a shady girly song now). Sipping the tea and having besan ka halwa (you must try it if you haven't had it). Just doing my thing. Taking in the feeling of being home. Being content. Aah..:-)
Thursday, September 20, 2007
A Note on Someone
I suppose it's once in a lifetime that you meet someone who understands you. In 20 years (yes, this is also to draw attention to the fact that I turned 20 recently), I've met just one person who understands me almost completely. Unfortunately though, like I keep telling him, I don't think he can ever appreciate me.
Friends are weird creatures. They come in all kinds of packages, sustain all sorts of temperaments and contribute in their own significant or not-so-significant way to life. But something I believe is common to all friends anyone will have will be that that friend should have a minimal understanding of the person concerned. If anything, that's probably the foundation. I've been lucky in that respect. I've had a bunch of friends who've all understood me pretty well, more often than not. But like I said, it's ever so rarely that there is that one person who knows you through and through, can almost always correctly predict what you'll feel. They say that when you meet such a person, with whom you have such a cherished equation, you should grab him with both hands.
But you know, sometimes it's this perfection that ruins the picture. It is this kind of complete understanding that slowly wears down fragments of the relationship. Something similar has happened in my case. Things happened too late. Understanding notwithstanding, acting on that understanding happened too late. There is too much criticism and inherent dislike for whatever is understood. A strange concoction of love and abhorrence. Leaving me afraid all the time as to which one will prevail on a given occasion, on a given day. Probably understanding too much is the natural precursor to contempt. One of life's little ironies, I suppose, to use the overused phrase.
That being the introduction, I really don't know how to get to actually describing this person. An entry on him has been pending for a while, and since this is my first entry on an individual, I assume that this person is flattered. Whenever I think of him, the first word that comes to my mind is supportive. For the time that I've known him, I can't think of a single incident when he has let me down. When I've needed to talk or cry or 'analyze' things when he hasn't been there. All right, there have been stray occassions, but they've cost us both and our relationship severely, and those aren't the prevalent memories. He always listents, always advices. It may not be a practicable or empathetic solution, but the fact that he offers a solution after a genuinely interested round of listening is enough. I think this is his greatest gift. He can actually make a problem seem simpler, a situation seem so much lighter. He has recently taken to doing small special things, being very thoughtful. I don't think it comes very naturally to him, but he's doing it for me now. Which is really touching.
Naturally, there are downsides. What hurts the most is the utter lack of the ability to relate or appreciate. That apart, shades of insecurity and very, very violent tempers sparsely hidden cast dark clouds. The funnt thing is, though there have been so, so many occassions when we've been together, I can't think of a single time which is either all happy or all sad. It's all...grey, in a way. Which isn't a bad thing, the way I mean it. All I'm saying is it's complicated..nothing seems simple anymore. And neither of us are helping that.
Sometimes I think I'll probably end up marrying him. For the simple reason that I know I'll never meet another person who understands me this way. Don't ask me how I know; it's just an instinct. But I think we'll drive each other crazy after a point. We differ on too many basics, as he had once said. Either way, I wanna make this a little dramatic, and thank him for every time he has unquestioningly been there for me, has patiently listened to me whining about the same things again and again. There's a lot more to him, there's a lot more to us. Both good and bad. But this is all I'll say for now.
Friends are weird creatures. They come in all kinds of packages, sustain all sorts of temperaments and contribute in their own significant or not-so-significant way to life. But something I believe is common to all friends anyone will have will be that that friend should have a minimal understanding of the person concerned. If anything, that's probably the foundation. I've been lucky in that respect. I've had a bunch of friends who've all understood me pretty well, more often than not. But like I said, it's ever so rarely that there is that one person who knows you through and through, can almost always correctly predict what you'll feel. They say that when you meet such a person, with whom you have such a cherished equation, you should grab him with both hands.
But you know, sometimes it's this perfection that ruins the picture. It is this kind of complete understanding that slowly wears down fragments of the relationship. Something similar has happened in my case. Things happened too late. Understanding notwithstanding, acting on that understanding happened too late. There is too much criticism and inherent dislike for whatever is understood. A strange concoction of love and abhorrence. Leaving me afraid all the time as to which one will prevail on a given occasion, on a given day. Probably understanding too much is the natural precursor to contempt. One of life's little ironies, I suppose, to use the overused phrase.
That being the introduction, I really don't know how to get to actually describing this person. An entry on him has been pending for a while, and since this is my first entry on an individual, I assume that this person is flattered. Whenever I think of him, the first word that comes to my mind is supportive. For the time that I've known him, I can't think of a single incident when he has let me down. When I've needed to talk or cry or 'analyze' things when he hasn't been there. All right, there have been stray occassions, but they've cost us both and our relationship severely, and those aren't the prevalent memories. He always listents, always advices. It may not be a practicable or empathetic solution, but the fact that he offers a solution after a genuinely interested round of listening is enough. I think this is his greatest gift. He can actually make a problem seem simpler, a situation seem so much lighter. He has recently taken to doing small special things, being very thoughtful. I don't think it comes very naturally to him, but he's doing it for me now. Which is really touching.
Naturally, there are downsides. What hurts the most is the utter lack of the ability to relate or appreciate. That apart, shades of insecurity and very, very violent tempers sparsely hidden cast dark clouds. The funnt thing is, though there have been so, so many occassions when we've been together, I can't think of a single time which is either all happy or all sad. It's all...grey, in a way. Which isn't a bad thing, the way I mean it. All I'm saying is it's complicated..nothing seems simple anymore. And neither of us are helping that.
Sometimes I think I'll probably end up marrying him. For the simple reason that I know I'll never meet another person who understands me this way. Don't ask me how I know; it's just an instinct. But I think we'll drive each other crazy after a point. We differ on too many basics, as he had once said. Either way, I wanna make this a little dramatic, and thank him for every time he has unquestioningly been there for me, has patiently listened to me whining about the same things again and again. There's a lot more to him, there's a lot more to us. Both good and bad. But this is all I'll say for now.
Monday, August 13, 2007
On 'Jugaad'
I am from North India, studying in Bangalore. I've lived here for the last two and a half odd years. I have quite a few friends now who're ethnically from South India, and not very comfortable with Hindi. So translating some random jokes cracked in Hindi to English has become something of a second nature. But once in a while, I come across this odd word for which it is impossible to find an accurate English translation which conveys the meaning correctly.
One such word is jugaad. I don't know how many of you actually know the meaning. It's one of those stunning words which can be used in lots of places, and conveys a certain flavour, a certain crassness which no other word which is being used to describe it can really capture. Jugaad partly means making do with whatever resources you have, using them intelligently to suit whatever need you want, without going through the trouble of looking for the most suitable equipment. It's like making the most of the available options. 'Yeh kaise kiya?' 'Kuch khaas nahi..Jugaad lagaya'.
It's an absolutely brilliant word for the sheer utility it has. Once you understand what it means, you cannot possibly not use it. It sort of fits everywhere..one of those perfect, perfect words..sigh..lovely word!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
An Honourable Man
'..for they are all honourable men'.
A much celebrated concept- the honourable man. A compulsive, obsessive requirement alongside chivalry and what not- being honourable. But what's the utility and efficacy, and general popularity of 'being honourable' today. Often enough, it seems to be shrugged off as being pseudo, ridiculed for being archaic, ignored for being useless. But scratch the surface, and is that really so? Does dishonourable behaviour not raise eyebrows even now?
I suppose we should begin with trying to figure out what honourable actually means. And we'll inevitably have to end our efforts at the beginning itself, for I don't think the concept of 'honour' carries the same meaning for all of us. But at the core, it does seem to imply the existence of a code of ethics, doing the right thing (right, of course, being the tougher path, the thing you don't want to do and blah). For me, the honourable thing I suppose would constitute being loyal, being honest (as far as possible at least), stepping aside for greater good..things, in short, which would test the moral fibre within you (whose universal existence, of course, is suspect and subject to much debate..poof!)
In any case, although I don't know if it's the case for everyone, I do know what the honourable thing to do is in x situation. It sort of occurs to me naturally. Moving on to the next point- does there exist a requirement for an honourable code of conduct, when the concept of being honourable is itself endangered. I believe that despite much effort to ridicule and neglect the concept, at a basic level, we do expect fellow-human beings to behave in an honourable fashion. This entails doing the right thing (once again). Imporantly, departure from the expected code may not invite open hostility (you won't be challenged to a duel or anything), but will not go unnoticed. It'll cause eye-brow raising and sufficient murmurs to make your code of ethics suspect enough. Now, I know for a fact that there is a certain section of people which genuinely doesn't care if they're looked upon as being not particularly honourable, but in my limited experience, I have learnt that this section forms an exception to the standard norm of being concerned with the honourable tag.
What really happens if you don't do the honourable thing? Hmm..nothing. Except..well..leaves a queasy sort of feeling in your stomach, doesn't it?
A much celebrated concept- the honourable man. A compulsive, obsessive requirement alongside chivalry and what not- being honourable. But what's the utility and efficacy, and general popularity of 'being honourable' today. Often enough, it seems to be shrugged off as being pseudo, ridiculed for being archaic, ignored for being useless. But scratch the surface, and is that really so? Does dishonourable behaviour not raise eyebrows even now?
I suppose we should begin with trying to figure out what honourable actually means. And we'll inevitably have to end our efforts at the beginning itself, for I don't think the concept of 'honour' carries the same meaning for all of us. But at the core, it does seem to imply the existence of a code of ethics, doing the right thing (right, of course, being the tougher path, the thing you don't want to do and blah). For me, the honourable thing I suppose would constitute being loyal, being honest (as far as possible at least), stepping aside for greater good..things, in short, which would test the moral fibre within you (whose universal existence, of course, is suspect and subject to much debate..poof!)
In any case, although I don't know if it's the case for everyone, I do know what the honourable thing to do is in x situation. It sort of occurs to me naturally. Moving on to the next point- does there exist a requirement for an honourable code of conduct, when the concept of being honourable is itself endangered. I believe that despite much effort to ridicule and neglect the concept, at a basic level, we do expect fellow-human beings to behave in an honourable fashion. This entails doing the right thing (once again). Imporantly, departure from the expected code may not invite open hostility (you won't be challenged to a duel or anything), but will not go unnoticed. It'll cause eye-brow raising and sufficient murmurs to make your code of ethics suspect enough. Now, I know for a fact that there is a certain section of people which genuinely doesn't care if they're looked upon as being not particularly honourable, but in my limited experience, I have learnt that this section forms an exception to the standard norm of being concerned with the honourable tag.
What really happens if you don't do the honourable thing? Hmm..nothing. Except..well..leaves a queasy sort of feeling in your stomach, doesn't it?
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Arranged Marriage
I am one of those people who gives marriage a lot of thought. Actually, I am not sure there
exists and entire class of people that does that, but it's comforting to think that I'm not
the only gamomaniac, or thinking-about-gamo-maniac in a population of 6 billion (by the way,
is it still there? Anyway, convenient number). Now before you get me wrong, it's not like
I'm dying to get married or something. Nor do I wish to have some form of legalized sex.
Nope; I genuinely believe in the institution of marriage. And I like to think about its
nuances. Till some time ago, it never really seemed like a great achievement when marriages
lasted, or couples compromised to live their lives together. Nor did arranged marriages seem
like an impossible or even difficult form of finding a life-partner. I was quite okay with
the idea of my parents finding me a suitable boy. And my living my life with him. I cannot
put my finger on when the idea actually started to irk me.
I think it started somewhere around six months ago. Lost in idle thoughts one day, I thought
of this chap, X, who I am acquainted with..actually friends with. Well, so X is pretty good
marriage material for an arranged marriage. He's from a well-educated, good family. His
siblings are qualified from very good institutions. X too, is obtaining a degree from one of
the best universities in the country, and is bound to land a pretty good job. He looks okay,
is very well-mannered and blah. Importantly, he's the right ethnicity. All in all, quite a
match, in the eyes of any sensible parent. But having known him for a while, I'd be horrified
if I were to get married to him. It'd drive me up the wall for the simple reason that we're
not in the least compatible. Our interests and intellects differ. If we did have to spend a
life time together, we'd give each other hell. All the compromising nonsense is fine, but
somewhere deep down, I simply don't want to compromise.
Which brings me to the point that the thought of an arranged marriage has been giving me
nightmares. I mean, at best you figure out that the guy's from a good family, well-educated
and well-placed, but how do you know about the finer things in life, like his habits, how
clean he keeps the place, whether he's aggressive or not, whether he's all work or all fun
or (luckily) both? How do you know whether or not you'll get along with him at a base level?
And what do you do when you're stuck with someone you cannot get along with? Once again,
scary thoughts. To be continued when my brain springs to life once again...
exists and entire class of people that does that, but it's comforting to think that I'm not
the only gamomaniac, or thinking-about-gamo-maniac in a population of 6 billion (by the way,
is it still there? Anyway, convenient number). Now before you get me wrong, it's not like
I'm dying to get married or something. Nor do I wish to have some form of legalized sex.
Nope; I genuinely believe in the institution of marriage. And I like to think about its
nuances. Till some time ago, it never really seemed like a great achievement when marriages
lasted, or couples compromised to live their lives together. Nor did arranged marriages seem
like an impossible or even difficult form of finding a life-partner. I was quite okay with
the idea of my parents finding me a suitable boy. And my living my life with him. I cannot
put my finger on when the idea actually started to irk me.
I think it started somewhere around six months ago. Lost in idle thoughts one day, I thought
of this chap, X, who I am acquainted with..actually friends with. Well, so X is pretty good
marriage material for an arranged marriage. He's from a well-educated, good family. His
siblings are qualified from very good institutions. X too, is obtaining a degree from one of
the best universities in the country, and is bound to land a pretty good job. He looks okay,
is very well-mannered and blah. Importantly, he's the right ethnicity. All in all, quite a
match, in the eyes of any sensible parent. But having known him for a while, I'd be horrified
if I were to get married to him. It'd drive me up the wall for the simple reason that we're
not in the least compatible. Our interests and intellects differ. If we did have to spend a
life time together, we'd give each other hell. All the compromising nonsense is fine, but
somewhere deep down, I simply don't want to compromise.
Which brings me to the point that the thought of an arranged marriage has been giving me
nightmares. I mean, at best you figure out that the guy's from a good family, well-educated
and well-placed, but how do you know about the finer things in life, like his habits, how
clean he keeps the place, whether he's aggressive or not, whether he's all work or all fun
or (luckily) both? How do you know whether or not you'll get along with him at a base level?
And what do you do when you're stuck with someone you cannot get along with? Once again,
scary thoughts. To be continued when my brain springs to life once again...
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Zup Zup zUp
I'm really bored. Am in law school..for stupid exams. It's really sad studying for 60 marks papers. I didn't think law school could get any more depressing..but trust me, it happens to be at its worst when you're not in the hostel, with friends, and see random people crawling all over the place. Feeling really lonely, and well, it's not just because of the lack of physical presence of people around me.
But before I turn this into a whiny blog where I cry my stupid heart out, I'll write some thing nice. Something nice..nice nice nice..blah. Nothing as of now. There's nothing that isn't upsetting me and making me feel uneasy (that funny feeling in the stomach..dunno what I'm nervous about!)
Has anyone paid careful attention to the song 'Chhod aaye hum' from Maachis..it's got this lovely line- 'Ek chhota sa lamha hai, jo khatm nahi hota..main laakh manaata hun, yeh bhasm nahi hota'. Very heavy, but dunno why I've been reflecting a lot on it of late.
Came across this picture of the Madhurai temple..Really liked it for some reason. Kind of evoked something in me..here it is.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Orkut Judgementalism
Something I realized today while orkutting (I hate the stupid thing..hate it too much to even wanna bother quitting..it's really annoying, the blue) is that the first thing I look at while checking out a profile, even before the 'about me' column, is the books the person reads. It's a strange sort of judgementalism (is that a word? think so..). Nothing intentional. It's not like I judge people by the books they read, or calculate their intelligence in light of the books they read, or evaluate people according to how intelligent the books they read reflect them to be. All right..maybe a teensy-weensy bit. But it's not the 'being judgemental' that arouses my interest tonight (or to-morning..aah, good old today: sorry, I'm bored). It's the 'being judgemental so naturally' that surprises me. It's almost like I'm trained to do it. Open a profile page, scroll down to books, and either dismiss the person as being an idiot, or deem the person worthy of conversation entered into by yours truly. Now, don't get me wrong here. It's not like I'm trying to say that I've read all the best books ever written, or that I've got an undisputably good taste in books. It's just a weird sense of labelling what I like as the 'right books', which ought to have been read. Especially if I know you through Orkut and Orkut alone. Even if I know you, your books column will help me form my final judgement of you. It's kinda unfair, I know. It makes me feel a little guilty also, every time I do it. I ought to give people a chance even if they don't read what I think is 'intelligent'. But then, do people who read badly-written, facile nonsense deserve a chance? Oh..oops...
Ever Felt Unwanted?
That's a horribly dramatic title, I know. But I've put it there to make you read this post. I rarely ever care whether my blog is read, whether my posts are commented upon. But today, for some reason, I want to be heard. I feel like being read, and being understood. And (sorry for the touch of drama again) being loved. I feel like signing into some randon chatroom and talking to random people, for strangers are always interested in listening to you, especially if your ASL reads 19/F/Delhi. For some reason, today, I feel like noone wants to listen to a word I say, noone is interested in anything I do. That everything I do is wrong or a social blunder in some way or the other. So much so that for the first time in a long, long time (so long that I don't think there's been another one), I feel like a burden. I feel horrible under-confident and beaten.
I hate books that start with a character who blames his or her parents for an entire lifetime of failure. I hate rappers and strippers who blame their parents shortcomings as being good bringers-up for the professions they've ultimately chosen or been forced into. I hate movies and friends and every other creature who whines along the same lines.. I hate people who've failed and point fingers at their progenitors and childhood for their failure. Admittedly, childhood's that time of your life when your everything's formed. But that's really no excuse. Because if you're smart enough to blame them, you know you're treading on the wrong path somewhere. And if you're not strong enough to correct it, while knowing that you ought to, I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but there we have a loser. I don't believe that misunderstoof teenagers have to end up without a sense of self-righteousness. Cuz honestly, if you don't have the sense or the character to help yourself, my dear, I don't think you'd have ended up some place better if you'd had an angel for your father.
Anyway, I digress in anger. Yeah..so I don't like kids who blame their parents and upbringing. And I've had nothing to blame in my parents or my childhood. I've almost perfect parents (the almost is there to satisfy one's belief in there being a final, ultimate, unreachable degree of perfection). And I don't blame them for a thing. In fact, I think I've turned out quite all right. Because, though I might sound terribly vain saying this, I really was (am, I think) an almost perfect kid. I've answered my parents back on occasions that can be counted in single digits, being less than 5. I've never fought with them, or demanded anything from them. Never, ever asked for anything, threw a tantrum. I've very, very rarely disobeyed them, and even them, squirmed so much under the guilt of it that I was better off not doing those things. I've never burdened them with worries about my academic life, or smoking, alcohol or drugs. I've done the things I'd promised them I'd do. I have never, ever, ever let them down, in terms of academics or CV achievements. Additionally, I relate to them very well. My mom, especially. I talk to her all the time, share most things with her. We have a very good relationship. Not at all like those cranky teenage daughters and I-have-no-time-for-you mothers. We've always had time, or made it. There's a lot more I do which I think most parents want from their kids. For a very long time, I've flattered myself to believe that I'm a perfect daughter.
And, I don't mean to sound bitter or complaining here, but some times I can't help but wonder where I went wrong. My family thinks I'm indifferent to it..that I don't 'love them'. When I'm the most homesick kid around in college. I don't mean to whine here, but I really don't think my parents ever really understood me. It's probably my fault..I've always displayed a very limited facet of myself at home..and that's the one they're acquainted with. I don't have any of the standard teenage qualms. They don't pressurize me or stress me out, they don't ask me to do this-that and the other, they don't nag me.They're appropriately proud of me, very, very aware of what I want, do everything for me. I'm not complaining here. I simply don't think they understand me. Sometimes I get this very scary feeling that they just don't know who I am. That they know me at a very superficial level, and would be shocked if they scratch the surface. Despite my act, I have some times tried to let down my guard and show them a bit of myself; but it's always been met with such hostile disapproval and disdain that I don't feel like risking it anymore. I've never been rude to a relative, especially not to someone who's older than I. One incident of rudeness (hardly even rudeness..it was an academic debate which was turned acromonious by the other party), and I am reprimanded and asked to shut up. Ok..we know you're right, but shut up. Excuse me, why? I thought we ought to stand up for what we believe in and blah. Yeah, but not to 'elders'. 'Respect your elders'. I've always fucking respected them. But one episode erases all memory of an unblemished record. It's bloody pointless, having a clean record, if you ever happen to slip, it's all in the bin anyway. But I'm ranting again.
Point is, I don't like it. I'm really, really unhappy (I do sound really sad, don't I). But really..this isn't meant to be one of those 'I'm depressed and on pills so plis help or I'll commit suicide' pleas. In fact this isn't a plea at all. I've changed my mind. I hope noone reads this.
For once, I feel friend-less. Don't know why. But I think I'm nothing but a burden on friends as well. They've got to invest way to much in terms of listening to me. All right, it's quid pro quo, but I don't like it even this way. Poor babies. But that's tolerable..I've never needed a support system because I had my family to fall back on. Even if I don't share my troubles with them, I know they are there, and they love me in an unconditional, unquestioning, non-quid pro quo sort of way. They don't judge, or listen. They just accept. Somehow, today, I feel like a burden on my family as well. Not financially or emotionally or anything. Simply like..a tumour. An excess they don't require or appreciate, but simply tolerate. Don't know why, really. It's just a feeling. Like they'd be happier if I was still in college, not bothering them with my presence (or existence?). It's a bad feeling. Leaves a heavy sort of feeling in the heart region. Unpopular, disliked, slimed. Those are one thing. Lonely, friendless, unloved. I can deal with those if I have to. But unwanted?
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Bombay Rain
Bombay Rain- Jammed Roads and Filled Tracks.
Love, warm snacks, brown water.
It's got a way of touching you in a way no other can. That embraces you so completely that you never think of it as anything but home. Some say it's too professional, the city has no emotion, the people are pure indifference. But for some reason, while all these allegations hold weight, it never seems to matter once you're in Bombay.You may love it, or hate it, or tire of it, or thrive in it- but you've got to feel for it. More importantly, it never can leave you. The smell of the sea (stench some may say) becomes second nature to you. Crowded streets, cramped buildings and big, red BEST buses with tired, rude drivers, who are efficient nevertheless. Slums, black and yellow Fiat taxis from South Bombay to Bandra. The Gateway of India. Haji Ali. The Taj. Bandstand and reclaimed areas. Chowpatti and the Queen's necklace. Local Trains- lifelines. Constant motion, with everyone always looking busy; everyone always headed somewhere, in a hurry, with a purpose. Food stalls and shady little temples; the Divine for whom busy people do spare a minute. Long line to Siddhi Vinayak on Tuesday mornings. Juhu. Malabar Hill. Malad. All wrapped in one, the elite. Their fingers tightly, yet quietly interlocked with blue-collarers. Warm pav vadas (or vada pavs, the order of the words is a much debated issue). Bombay rain. The most refreshing, invigorating sort of rain there is. It comes down slowly, surreptitiously, before you know it. And before you have your black umbreallas and raincoats out, brown water threatens to touch your knee. Wading through the water to catch the train, board the bus, get to school, work or the grocers. You fold your jeans up, take your socks off and walk right through it. Complaining is not particularly efficient. A Bombay-ite rarely considers complaining worth the while. The rain comes down, continuously, heavily. You can sit and watch it if you have the time. Or you can brave it, if you don't. Somehow, I never tired of Bombay rain. It's always been symbolic of fresh beginnings and beautiful things to me. Somehow, rain in Bombay has a different feel to it, the aroma touches your soul. Bombay rain is as much a part of the city as the people or buildings are. You don't welcome it or grudge its presence. It's just there, like it was there the previous year, and will be the following year. Even when the water is terrifyingly above standard levels of safety, life in Bombay doesn't stop. A rare holiday greets students. The system runs till the trains do. Once the trains are blocked, a first sign of lethargy is perceived amongst the public. The following day, everything's back on track. That is Bombay. That's the beauty of it all, the magic of the city. A city that gives you its everything, its every opportunity and loyalty, and in return demands a part of you that never can be retrieved. It's just one of those things that touches you in a way no other can.
Monday, April 2, 2007
I Got A Gift!!
I got a beautiful, beautiful dancing doll. One of those that shake all over if you touch them. It's sooo pretty. Yeah-hey!
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The Rhett Butler Finishing School
If you've read Gone With the Wind and are female, you're in love with Rhett Butler. If you've
read it and are male, you want to be like him. All in all, he's quite the ideal man, for most people. In an idle moment, just like all those in which great ideas greet our intellect, Aishwarya and I came up with the idea of starting a Rhett Butler Finishing School. This was after one of our usual conversations about how we needed men like Rhett Butler around. With his stunning passion, his style, his show of detachment despite his immense commitment, his wonderfully caring attitude when the lady needs it, his protectiveness, his nonchalance, and manliness mixed in just the right quantity with weakness and emotion.
We always seek salvation, when engrossed in one such whining session about how men like Rhett aren't anywhere near us by saying that if Margaret Mitchell has written about him, he couldn't possibly be only a figment of her imagination and purely fictitious. She must've had someone to inspire her to formulate such an ideal which carried universal appeal. But in this particular idle moment, we decided that the time had come when we take things into our own hands, and that we had let destiny fool around long enough. And even if we couldn't find a Rhett for ourselves, it was a moral duty on us to not allow every forthcoming generation of women to lament that Rhett's fantasy. So the idea of starting the Finishing School.
It's a vague plot as of now. Trainers will be appointed to train young men to be like Rhett. Why we can find trainers for this purpose is because it's fairly simple to find a man who excels in one aspect or the other, be it passion, or grooming, or style. Problem is, finding a man who has all these, and who isn't committed. So, men in this school will be trained separately in all these qualities. And since we'll be training a large number of men, the chances of finding an uncommitted perfect man will be easier for the many lovely ladies in the world. The funding will be done mainly through our pay-packets during a lifetime, and if we die without family, we'll give our wealth to the school. Else, a substantial portion will be willed to it. Once we've produced several batches of perfect men, we're quite sure the lucky women will make generous donations. Any donations towards the capital is currently more than welcome. As are any concrete ideas on what shall be taught in the school, and better still, if there is anyone in your mind who you think would make an apt trainer. So ladies and gentlemen, help us help you (or your daughters) and the world, by making better men, by making Rhetts.
read it and are male, you want to be like him. All in all, he's quite the ideal man, for most people. In an idle moment, just like all those in which great ideas greet our intellect, Aishwarya and I came up with the idea of starting a Rhett Butler Finishing School. This was after one of our usual conversations about how we needed men like Rhett Butler around. With his stunning passion, his style, his show of detachment despite his immense commitment, his wonderfully caring attitude when the lady needs it, his protectiveness, his nonchalance, and manliness mixed in just the right quantity with weakness and emotion.
We always seek salvation, when engrossed in one such whining session about how men like Rhett aren't anywhere near us by saying that if Margaret Mitchell has written about him, he couldn't possibly be only a figment of her imagination and purely fictitious. She must've had someone to inspire her to formulate such an ideal which carried universal appeal. But in this particular idle moment, we decided that the time had come when we take things into our own hands, and that we had let destiny fool around long enough. And even if we couldn't find a Rhett for ourselves, it was a moral duty on us to not allow every forthcoming generation of women to lament that Rhett's fantasy. So the idea of starting the Finishing School.
It's a vague plot as of now. Trainers will be appointed to train young men to be like Rhett. Why we can find trainers for this purpose is because it's fairly simple to find a man who excels in one aspect or the other, be it passion, or grooming, or style. Problem is, finding a man who has all these, and who isn't committed. So, men in this school will be trained separately in all these qualities. And since we'll be training a large number of men, the chances of finding an uncommitted perfect man will be easier for the many lovely ladies in the world. The funding will be done mainly through our pay-packets during a lifetime, and if we die without family, we'll give our wealth to the school. Else, a substantial portion will be willed to it. Once we've produced several batches of perfect men, we're quite sure the lucky women will make generous donations. Any donations towards the capital is currently more than welcome. As are any concrete ideas on what shall be taught in the school, and better still, if there is anyone in your mind who you think would make an apt trainer. So ladies and gentlemen, help us help you (or your daughters) and the world, by making better men, by making Rhetts.
APOCALYPTO- The Movie
I didn't think I'd actually write about a movie on my blog. I'm not too crazy about movies, and even if they seem to leave a momentary impression, very few movies stand the test of time and stay with me. I'm not sure Apocalypto will be something I take with me as a memory to my death bed, but it certainly touched me. Brilliant movie. A lesser adjective would be inappropriate.
It's not the sort of movie I would ever have watched, had I had the slightest idea that a) it was not in English, b) it was about an ancient tribe (I'm a major sucker for civilization). In fact, about half an hour into the movie, I tried to get our tickets changed for tickets for Nishabd. But fortunately, that didn't happen. For you see, the movie actually picks up in the second half. After which it is so fast it doesn't give you time to dislike it, and so powerful that you have to make quite an effort to breathe. It's got very good cinematography, beautifully directed and shot scenes, an unbelievable setting, and a very moving story. It's quite gory in parts (through which I shut my eyes firmly), but all in all, it's powerful, and most importantly, different while not being too arty or pseudo. A must MUST watch, especially if you're someone like me who doesn't appreciate movies unless they have a very interesting sounding story (and have sufficient concrete and limited greenery), for you'll probably not see another like this one.
I particularly love the tag line 'No one can outrun their destiny'.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Marcus
I don't understand how I couldn't have put up a picture of him earlier. An unforgivable oversight. He's the most handsome dog in the world. Just a year old, and look at him. Muah!!
Blood Bathing
I've never felt particularly strong in the subject of communal violence or riots. I have never tried to understand why people get involved in those things. Yeah, I've done the customary clicking of tongue when I hear that x number of people are dead, or y people injured. And I've vociferously participated in debates about how senseless the violence is, how religion is a personal choice, and all the standard stuff. But never really felt it, if you know what I mean. I felt indignant about the injustice of it all, but it was a largely superficial feeling.
Nothing life changing (thankfully) happened. It's not like I've seen a riot or been victimized by one in the recent past to have my perspective changed. But something not so real did change the way I looked at a riot. You see, I had a dream. This is terribly personal, and I have no idea why I am putting this up on a publicly accessible place all. I suppose I'm doing it to let go of some of the feeling I had.
Hmm..so about the dream. Just before I went to sleep yesterday afternoon, I read the part in A Suitable Boy where Seth describes some communal violence near a mosque because a Hindu king wishes to build a Shiva temple to the west of the mosque, so that the Muslims in the mosque always bow facing the temple when they pray. He finds this idea rather amusing, for some unfathomable reason. But whatever. I read the part, went to sleep, not much affected. And I had a horrid dream. Filled with violence, lots of burning, killing, and dropping bombs. Then, for some reason, there was a lot of cooking. A strange house, made of stone, which seemed to half my extended family and a lot of my friends in it. All that was fine. About half an hour of gore and detail followed. My mother was part of the dream. She seemed very active in trying to stop the riot. I don't know why she was; she didn't seem to be doing it for any organization or religious institution. More of a personal mission. And she'd go out and help injured people. To cut a lot of details short, at one point in the dream, I entered the stone house, and I saw three of my mom's sisters sitting near her. She was lying down. She was wearing a saree. My mom looks very beautiful in sarees. Very elegant also. But she was just lying there. Not moving. She simply smiled when I entered. She's not the sort of lady who sits around. Most of my memories are of her moving around, doing something or the other in the house or outside. She had a head injury. A very serious-looking one. I could see the blood stain through the white bandaging. And my mom's sisters were crying. Saying something about blaming themselves, some nonsense I had no desire to follow. I am not essentially an angry person. I don't lose my temper too easily, and when I do, I am certainly not angry for long, unless the provocation's really huge. Also, I am not a morbid person, who fantasizes about killing people, or wishes that certain people were dead. I have hated very few people in my life, in fact, offhand, I can think of only one such person. But at that moment, in my dream, I felt a surreal sort of anger, an almost unbelievable kind of hatred. The sort of thing which is probably described as white hot hatred and anger. An extreme abomination for the vile thing we call the human race. For how could someone hurt my mother? It had to be the most despicable, the most unforgivable offence if there ever was one. I felt an uncontrollable to hurt someone, anyone. To cause great physical pain to someone who could so something like that to one of the people I love more than life itself, and the whole lot that goes with it. For the first time in my life, whether alseep or awake, I wanted to kill someone. Simply kill, nothing less, whoever caused it. Strangle the bastards who inflict that with bare hands. The senseless, brainwashed, absolutely pathetic and disgusting creatures who can engage in activity like that. Hindu or Muslim? Really, anger doesn't give a damn. My pain, grief, anger, bitterness, desire to tear someone from limb to limb (no matter how dramatic that sounds) was so great that I woke up and cried after being awake. I don't know if this sort of thing usually happens, if people usually see dreams like that. It was an insane experience, something I wouldn't repeat for anything in the world, or the world itself. To tell the truth, I certainly feel more strongly about communal violence now than I did earlier, but it's not the dominating thread of my thought. Well, the dominating thread is very, very painful. Too much so to be written down, but I suppose you have a fair idea. I prayed frantically for a long time after the dream. And thanked God (whichever one) that it was a dream.
Nothing life changing (thankfully) happened. It's not like I've seen a riot or been victimized by one in the recent past to have my perspective changed. But something not so real did change the way I looked at a riot. You see, I had a dream. This is terribly personal, and I have no idea why I am putting this up on a publicly accessible place all. I suppose I'm doing it to let go of some of the feeling I had.
Hmm..so about the dream. Just before I went to sleep yesterday afternoon, I read the part in A Suitable Boy where Seth describes some communal violence near a mosque because a Hindu king wishes to build a Shiva temple to the west of the mosque, so that the Muslims in the mosque always bow facing the temple when they pray. He finds this idea rather amusing, for some unfathomable reason. But whatever. I read the part, went to sleep, not much affected. And I had a horrid dream. Filled with violence, lots of burning, killing, and dropping bombs. Then, for some reason, there was a lot of cooking. A strange house, made of stone, which seemed to half my extended family and a lot of my friends in it. All that was fine. About half an hour of gore and detail followed. My mother was part of the dream. She seemed very active in trying to stop the riot. I don't know why she was; she didn't seem to be doing it for any organization or religious institution. More of a personal mission. And she'd go out and help injured people. To cut a lot of details short, at one point in the dream, I entered the stone house, and I saw three of my mom's sisters sitting near her. She was lying down. She was wearing a saree. My mom looks very beautiful in sarees. Very elegant also. But she was just lying there. Not moving. She simply smiled when I entered. She's not the sort of lady who sits around. Most of my memories are of her moving around, doing something or the other in the house or outside. She had a head injury. A very serious-looking one. I could see the blood stain through the white bandaging. And my mom's sisters were crying. Saying something about blaming themselves, some nonsense I had no desire to follow. I am not essentially an angry person. I don't lose my temper too easily, and when I do, I am certainly not angry for long, unless the provocation's really huge. Also, I am not a morbid person, who fantasizes about killing people, or wishes that certain people were dead. I have hated very few people in my life, in fact, offhand, I can think of only one such person. But at that moment, in my dream, I felt a surreal sort of anger, an almost unbelievable kind of hatred. The sort of thing which is probably described as white hot hatred and anger. An extreme abomination for the vile thing we call the human race. For how could someone hurt my mother? It had to be the most despicable, the most unforgivable offence if there ever was one. I felt an uncontrollable to hurt someone, anyone. To cause great physical pain to someone who could so something like that to one of the people I love more than life itself, and the whole lot that goes with it. For the first time in my life, whether alseep or awake, I wanted to kill someone. Simply kill, nothing less, whoever caused it. Strangle the bastards who inflict that with bare hands. The senseless, brainwashed, absolutely pathetic and disgusting creatures who can engage in activity like that. Hindu or Muslim? Really, anger doesn't give a damn. My pain, grief, anger, bitterness, desire to tear someone from limb to limb (no matter how dramatic that sounds) was so great that I woke up and cried after being awake. I don't know if this sort of thing usually happens, if people usually see dreams like that. It was an insane experience, something I wouldn't repeat for anything in the world, or the world itself. To tell the truth, I certainly feel more strongly about communal violence now than I did earlier, but it's not the dominating thread of my thought. Well, the dominating thread is very, very painful. Too much so to be written down, but I suppose you have a fair idea. I prayed frantically for a long time after the dream. And thanked God (whichever one) that it was a dream.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Long Windy Walks
Long Windy Walks (footnote- Aishwarya; she came up with the idea of making this the subject of my new post)
Walks, like most things in life, come with many hues and shades. There are many kinds of walks, and they serve different purposes. The brisk ones are more often than not, to lose weight, to keep fit even. Slow ones, for fresh air, and are usually resorted to in the twilight of one's life. Medium paced ones to get to places, in the absence of the medium that God intended men use for locomotion (quoting Meg Ryan here, from French Kiss), the lovely car. But walks, again like most things, are context specific.
The context I'm talking about here is a semi-romantic, semi-getting-to-know people one. This is a law school context, and I believe is one that prevails in campuses across the country. For you see, when you walk the talk, it gets (other) people talking. Who you walk with is all-important. Kuch chal raha hai kya, is what flickers in an on-lookers mind when they see you taking a stroll with a member of the opposite sex. Walking at night is like adding an angel to the uninhabited Paradise for the gossip-starved passers-by. The distance in inches between the partners in crime, the expression on their faces, the laughter, the volume of conversation are all painfully observed, with a pretentious air of non-chalance.
But that's about the ones not involved in the rather lovely activity of walking. Having had the privelege of being a member of both parties, that is, the walkers and the lookers, I'll present to the world the other side of the story.
Walking; it's a lovely thing. Especially in a place like Bangalore, at about 12 in the night, it's the one thing you sincerely want to do. Lovely weather, the day's worries done with and temporarily forgotten, you take time out of this life so full of care, and cliched though it might sound, look around and above you to appreciate leaves moving in the wind and constellations formed in a clear sky. This sort of moment would seem wonderful in any company. But if you're lucky enough to have found yourself that special friend who you pour your heart and dreams out to, or that intriguing acquaintaince who never ceases to fascinate you, well, walking helps you attain never-before-visited heights of ecstacy (no pun here).
Truly, it's a most wonderful thing. Walking when the breeze blows against your face. Talking about dreams and aspirations, or even deep and dark secrets that trouble your heart, knowing that you have a sympathetic, empathetic and caring ear to drop your words into. Shouting at the top of your voice, doing a little dance on the path that surrounds the academic blog of this oh-very-mighty-but-so-hollow institution. Drinking in every bit of the night, the air, the company. Listening to (sometimes scary) night noises. Sometimes fighting, occasionally arguing. Often silent. Hmm..it's a day for cliches, but Keep Walking!
Walks, like most things in life, come with many hues and shades. There are many kinds of walks, and they serve different purposes. The brisk ones are more often than not, to lose weight, to keep fit even. Slow ones, for fresh air, and are usually resorted to in the twilight of one's life. Medium paced ones to get to places, in the absence of the medium that God intended men use for locomotion (quoting Meg Ryan here, from French Kiss), the lovely car. But walks, again like most things, are context specific.
The context I'm talking about here is a semi-romantic, semi-getting-to-know people one. This is a law school context, and I believe is one that prevails in campuses across the country. For you see, when you walk the talk, it gets (other) people talking. Who you walk with is all-important. Kuch chal raha hai kya, is what flickers in an on-lookers mind when they see you taking a stroll with a member of the opposite sex. Walking at night is like adding an angel to the uninhabited Paradise for the gossip-starved passers-by. The distance in inches between the partners in crime, the expression on their faces, the laughter, the volume of conversation are all painfully observed, with a pretentious air of non-chalance.
But that's about the ones not involved in the rather lovely activity of walking. Having had the privelege of being a member of both parties, that is, the walkers and the lookers, I'll present to the world the other side of the story.
Walking; it's a lovely thing. Especially in a place like Bangalore, at about 12 in the night, it's the one thing you sincerely want to do. Lovely weather, the day's worries done with and temporarily forgotten, you take time out of this life so full of care, and cliched though it might sound, look around and above you to appreciate leaves moving in the wind and constellations formed in a clear sky. This sort of moment would seem wonderful in any company. But if you're lucky enough to have found yourself that special friend who you pour your heart and dreams out to, or that intriguing acquaintaince who never ceases to fascinate you, well, walking helps you attain never-before-visited heights of ecstacy (no pun here).
Truly, it's a most wonderful thing. Walking when the breeze blows against your face. Talking about dreams and aspirations, or even deep and dark secrets that trouble your heart, knowing that you have a sympathetic, empathetic and caring ear to drop your words into. Shouting at the top of your voice, doing a little dance on the path that surrounds the academic blog of this oh-very-mighty-but-so-hollow institution. Drinking in every bit of the night, the air, the company. Listening to (sometimes scary) night noises. Sometimes fighting, occasionally arguing. Often silent. Hmm..it's a day for cliches, but Keep Walking!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Ramblings and Tangings
What is it that is bothering everyone? It almost seems like a bug which has found a way to everyone. I cannot see a happy face around me. Everyone's dutifully pretending. But it is painfully obvious that noone's fooling anyone. We're all asking each other what is wrong, everyone trying to solve the other's problem without making much reference to his or her own. Life's stretching along, but honesty seems to be fading away. Honesty to ourself. People who're usually 'ok' seem to be the worst of. Makes me wonder about what this all-encompassing factor could possibly be, which is effectively bringing all of us down. Sometimes I just wish it all away. Wish away whatever it is that has attacked us collectively. Wish for those times (which, at that time, of course, seemed quite awful) when we our cheerfulness was pretty much genuine. When there wasn't a weight tugging at you all the time. Not like that's happening, but well, I hope the phase passes.
Everything just seems to hollow. Put on. So Hollow.
Everything just seems to hollow. Put on. So Hollow.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Why Law?
I MUST write more regularly.
I love holidays. Wish they weren't over. All good things come to an end WAY too quickly. That's rather cliched I know, but then cliches often have more truth than all else.
I remember being asked the question 'Why Law?' very often in the past. Some queries were rather skeptical, others disappointed, and some (surprisingly) interested. The answer to the question, like most answers has undergone tremendous fine tuning and sometimes even not-so-fine tuning. The latest one:
You know, sometimes, you have a question. Could be a question about anything. Procedure to do something, get something, give something; about whether or not you can do something; whether or not you should or shouldn't do something- basically about most somethings and everything in life. And once you cross the barrier of having a question, sometimes, you start looking for an answer. Here and there; researching. Then, if you're very tenacious, you start finding answers. Could be wrong ones, could be inappropriate ones. Could be google searches which have the keyword you entered just for the heck of it. Could be chapters in books with a title that exactly coincides with your query, and which turns out to be utterly tangent in substance, making you wonder what on earth the author was thinking. Could be round-about searches or precisely incorrect ones. And then, finally, after much labour and sweat and coffee, you find it. THAT one answer. Which is the exact answer. For example, if you're looking for the scope of jurisdiction of decrees in foreign courts, you hit S.41(A) of the CPC, with all the details and notified countries. It fits perfectly. The answer may ruin you, may be against everything you had prayed for, may mean that you have to start working on the problem from scratch. But that feeling of having found the perfect-fit, the specific key to your question. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes it worth it. It's pure, utter bliss if there ever was such a thing. It makes you float and want to dance right there in your cublicle or whereever you happen to be. It makes you want to kiss the first person who crosses. And Law seems to be teaching me to ask and answer (sometimes) questions. To answer questions about life and what you can do- that is why law.
I love holidays. Wish they weren't over. All good things come to an end WAY too quickly. That's rather cliched I know, but then cliches often have more truth than all else.
I remember being asked the question 'Why Law?' very often in the past. Some queries were rather skeptical, others disappointed, and some (surprisingly) interested. The answer to the question, like most answers has undergone tremendous fine tuning and sometimes even not-so-fine tuning. The latest one:
You know, sometimes, you have a question. Could be a question about anything. Procedure to do something, get something, give something; about whether or not you can do something; whether or not you should or shouldn't do something- basically about most somethings and everything in life. And once you cross the barrier of having a question, sometimes, you start looking for an answer. Here and there; researching. Then, if you're very tenacious, you start finding answers. Could be wrong ones, could be inappropriate ones. Could be google searches which have the keyword you entered just for the heck of it. Could be chapters in books with a title that exactly coincides with your query, and which turns out to be utterly tangent in substance, making you wonder what on earth the author was thinking. Could be round-about searches or precisely incorrect ones. And then, finally, after much labour and sweat and coffee, you find it. THAT one answer. Which is the exact answer. For example, if you're looking for the scope of jurisdiction of decrees in foreign courts, you hit S.41(A) of the CPC, with all the details and notified countries. It fits perfectly. The answer may ruin you, may be against everything you had prayed for, may mean that you have to start working on the problem from scratch. But that feeling of having found the perfect-fit, the specific key to your question. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes it worth it. It's pure, utter bliss if there ever was such a thing. It makes you float and want to dance right there in your cublicle or whereever you happen to be. It makes you want to kiss the first person who crosses. And Law seems to be teaching me to ask and answer (sometimes) questions. To answer questions about life and what you can do- that is why law.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Home Chweet Home!
It's been better than usual this time. It's a rare event that you get home and don't get to hear about this that or the other that you've done wrong. I don't mean to sound like a fussy, parent-bashing adolescent (am I still one, by the way? Am 19..don't remember honestly, from bio class, till what age the ickiness phase continues). Home's good. So bloody good. Comforts manifold. Sigh.
No washing clothes yourself (all right..I don't do much of that in hostel either, but at least you have to keep a count on the number of clothes you've given to the dhoban)..food any time you want. And GOOD food. Television..lots of it..aah. It's shocking how appealing random Hindi movies seem, when away from the television (for instance, am watching some Salman Khan genre right now..complete with Sushmita in sexy orange and rain down their jisms). There's Phamily and phamily jokes. And little brother, though no longer pesky (when did he grow up and out of the peskiness, WHEN?). And dinner on the table, whatever time you want. With clean cutlery. Cling cling. Hehe..seems weird sometimes. It's funny how I didn't get used to comforts when I stayed home for a good 17 years, and grew out of them in a hurry, in a year and a half. Importantly, there's little Marcus (who is a year old now..and so big, but a baby at heart! For those who don't know, he's my baby German Shephard. Dog.)
Tea and chocolates galore, comfy beds and no sleep restrictions. No dirty room and 501 tensions on dimaag (the number for shubhness value). Ek dum aaram. What a life. Makes me wonder as to why I ever de-comforted myself from all this, for 9 months a year(that's the number of months I have college, dear). To give your kids the same comforts, silly. Please..I'm gonna marry rich. Badaa naam kamane (to earn a big name;-)) That just makes the spelling more complicated. Why, then? Law for social service. Ummmmm.. To be remembered? Hmm. Yeah. (Nods proudly). That's it. Discomforts to be remembered (not by the warden, but by people after I become super-lawyer). Yep..name, fame, but most of all to be a memory. That's why the struggle..err, I think.
I forgot to mention the ironed sleeping clothes you're encountered with at home..aah..Home Chweet Home!
No washing clothes yourself (all right..I don't do much of that in hostel either, but at least you have to keep a count on the number of clothes you've given to the dhoban)..food any time you want. And GOOD food. Television..lots of it..aah. It's shocking how appealing random Hindi movies seem, when away from the television (for instance, am watching some Salman Khan genre right now..complete with Sushmita in sexy orange and rain down their jisms). There's Phamily and phamily jokes. And little brother, though no longer pesky (when did he grow up and out of the peskiness, WHEN?). And dinner on the table, whatever time you want. With clean cutlery. Cling cling. Hehe..seems weird sometimes. It's funny how I didn't get used to comforts when I stayed home for a good 17 years, and grew out of them in a hurry, in a year and a half. Importantly, there's little Marcus (who is a year old now..and so big, but a baby at heart! For those who don't know, he's my baby German Shephard. Dog.)
Tea and chocolates galore, comfy beds and no sleep restrictions. No dirty room and 501 tensions on dimaag (the number for shubhness value). Ek dum aaram. What a life. Makes me wonder as to why I ever de-comforted myself from all this, for 9 months a year(that's the number of months I have college, dear). To give your kids the same comforts, silly. Please..I'm gonna marry rich. Badaa naam kamane (to earn a big name;-)) That just makes the spelling more complicated. Why, then? Law for social service. Ummmmm.. To be remembered? Hmm. Yeah. (Nods proudly). That's it. Discomforts to be remembered (not by the warden, but by people after I become super-lawyer). Yep..name, fame, but most of all to be a memory. That's why the struggle..err, I think.
I forgot to mention the ironed sleeping clothes you're encountered with at home..aah..Home Chweet Home!
Saturday, January 6, 2007
That's Me! That'e ME!!!!!See Anwesh..told you I was sophisticated, calm and collected..
| Your Personality Profile |
 You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant. Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle. You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs. For you, comfort and calm are very important. You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection. You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong. |
Oh Exam Time!
It's that time of the year (actually month, in law school- we have exams all the bloody time it seems) when you stop going on romantic dinner dates (err..not really), stop watching movies (at least feel guilty while watching them), and sit in the room quietly and study (all right, ALL RIGHT).
Well, actually it's that time when you genuinely stop doing everything because you are supposed to study, and study even less than you ever did before, but feel guilty and keep saying that you have to study.
All said and done, even though I don't study when it's exam time, I feel really, really burdened by it all. I grow grumpy, fight with everyone, eat a lot, sleep more than ever, keep saying I'm sleepy, bored or ill and do no work. It's that time when when I'd kill to sleep an extra hour (which, by the way, I always do) and keep whining about it. It's that time when I'm very close to tears all the time, and have lost complete track of whether the padhai situation is even redeemable from the pits it has fallen into. It's perennial tea time, and the time you break into hysterical laughs without the remotest idea as to why you're even amused (cracking up, as we call it). A time when you stop looking pretty with lenses, and don fat glasses. It's the time when precious moments between 11.45 and 12.30 are awaited to let go during cool nocturnal walks. But yeah, also a time when you actually spend some time in the room. Incidentally, the time when I have ended up having several intense, long and interesting conversations with my room mates. All of them concluding with 'we'll continue talking about this after the papers'. Of course, that never happens. Come the last exam, and all conversational commitments are forgotten.
All in all, it's quite a time. Sigh.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
And They Still Stick Up For You..
It's astounding how one person can harbour so many bad habits. Before I sound like a self-help book, let me clarify that I am not talking about the human race in general, but about myself. Jumping straight to the habit that's causing the trouble today:
You hop, skip and jump along life, making friends and losing someone. Smart people keep in touch with their friends. I, for some reason, don't. I have a fundamental problem in communicating with people who have really mattered to me at some point in life. Call if fear, call it laziness. I can't pull you up for calling it either, or some other third thing, for I don't know what it is. Some things fall into perspective a long time after they actually should have.
Law School does some things to you (I was wondering how long it would be before I sprung up with the dreaded phrase 'Law School' in this formerly chaste blog). For one, it makes you value people. Friends of the past. Friends of the present. One more than the other, at different points in time.
Friends of the past first- School friends, colony friends, lunch-break friends, bus friends, standing on the bus-stop friends, ice-cream pals, please-return-my-notebook this time buddies, I-know-you-stole-my-eraser-but-I-can't-say-anything chums, don't-pull-my-hair friends ,your-mom's-a-brilliant-cook friends, you'll-never-date-me-so-let's-be-friends friends..sigh..they come in all shapes and sizes!! For some really sad reason (the un-locatable and un-nameable one I spoke about 35 seconds ago). I am stupid. I really miss you people. Forgive me for not calling, not returning your calls, not meeting up and all those things I did, if you can. Beofre I launch into more detail, I'll have to check the waterproofing of my laptop. So, everyone who I am referring to here, and you know who you are, please understand what I haven't said like you always did. Overlook this one of my many flaws. And get in touch with me ok..I PROMISE I'll call :-(
Friends of the present now- You guys are getting lucky..I am caught in a nostalgic web, so I am foreseeing that I'll miss you people once I lose touch with you (I can correct it only after I've done it..). Here goes..law school specific, the 'some people' who are my world. You're my support system, my assets. My room mates, who I can return to at 12.30, in any mood, and feel safe throwing tantrums with. And of course, the men in my life, who well, are the men in my life. The chivalrous, polite individuals, who willingly throw their shirts over the ditch so that I don't (just) get my feet muddy., The brave souls who fight off the goons on MG road (or at least say they would have done it, after 101 Nilgiris has conquered the enemy and put them behind bars..not to forget, their painful recollections about how hard police-women slap).
For clarity (especially for Anwesha; I promised I'd write about her), the ladies are- Aishwarya, Anwesha, Divya and Pooja (this is purely alphabetic). And the men are safe in my heart (haah..there Aishwarya, no luck..but I know you love me more than they ever can hope to).
And non-law school, Arlene, you're the woman on top!! I love you, muah muah, even when you scandalize me. Oh yeah, and Jehaan, you're ok too.
You hop, skip and jump along life, making friends and losing someone. Smart people keep in touch with their friends. I, for some reason, don't. I have a fundamental problem in communicating with people who have really mattered to me at some point in life. Call if fear, call it laziness. I can't pull you up for calling it either, or some other third thing, for I don't know what it is. Some things fall into perspective a long time after they actually should have.
Law School does some things to you (I was wondering how long it would be before I sprung up with the dreaded phrase 'Law School' in this formerly chaste blog). For one, it makes you value people. Friends of the past. Friends of the present. One more than the other, at different points in time.
Friends of the past first- School friends, colony friends, lunch-break friends, bus friends, standing on the bus-stop friends, ice-cream pals, please-return-my-notebook this time buddies, I-know-you-stole-my-eraser-but-I-can't-say-anything chums, don't-pull-my-hair friends ,your-mom's-a-brilliant-cook friends, you'll-never-date-me-so-let's-be-friends friends..sigh..they come in all shapes and sizes!! For some really sad reason (the un-locatable and un-nameable one I spoke about 35 seconds ago). I am stupid. I really miss you people. Forgive me for not calling, not returning your calls, not meeting up and all those things I did, if you can. Beofre I launch into more detail, I'll have to check the waterproofing of my laptop. So, everyone who I am referring to here, and you know who you are, please understand what I haven't said like you always did. Overlook this one of my many flaws. And get in touch with me ok..I PROMISE I'll call :-(
Friends of the present now- You guys are getting lucky..I am caught in a nostalgic web, so I am foreseeing that I'll miss you people once I lose touch with you (I can correct it only after I've done it..). Here goes..law school specific, the 'some people' who are my world. You're my support system, my assets. My room mates, who I can return to at 12.30, in any mood, and feel safe throwing tantrums with. And of course, the men in my life, who well, are the men in my life. The chivalrous, polite individuals, who willingly throw their shirts over the ditch so that I don't (just) get my feet muddy., The brave souls who fight off the goons on MG road (or at least say they would have done it, after 101 Nilgiris has conquered the enemy and put them behind bars..not to forget, their painful recollections about how hard police-women slap).
For clarity (especially for Anwesha; I promised I'd write about her), the ladies are- Aishwarya, Anwesha, Divya and Pooja (this is purely alphabetic). And the men are safe in my heart (haah..there Aishwarya, no luck..but I know you love me more than they ever can hope to).
And non-law school, Arlene, you're the woman on top!! I love you, muah muah, even when you scandalize me. Oh yeah, and Jehaan, you're ok too.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Tequila Sunrise..
I had sworn to start a blog when we did this. Pondicherry. 2006. 25th December. Tequila in fancy pub- Rs.250. Tequila in fancy bottle from not so fancy shop= Rs.100. The decision was made.
The glass of the bottle was really thick. Something noone realized. So 2 shots per person for the six of us. Flicked lemons from a fancy restaurant (tourist guide said it was the fanciest in Pondi). AND salt. Lots of it, wrapped in a napkin. Hid it with Pooja's 6600 when the waiter walked in (Sigh..a moment's silence for my faithful old phone). Loaded with lemons (which Gupta has with his pasta..yummy), and salt. Venue shift.
Pretty hotel room. We move away the clothes in a hurry, making the room man-able. Beds cleared up. The men stride in. The precious bottle on the bed post. 5 wine glasses and 1 paper glass, ready on the table. An expert bar tender, who tells us we'll 'need' the lemons after our drink. Preempting hormonal disbalance, I request for two lemons (what if I swallow the first one?). Divi the lemon cutter, and salt putter. 'But people want the salt'. Tequila is poured. We lift our glasses. The smell makes me want to puke.
Anyway, night suits and stylish shots. One, two, three..giggle. Once again: one, two, three..wait, wait, my lemon isn't in position. An angry bar-tender..'On 'GO', you DRINK'. Yes Sir.One, two, three...swoosh. Blughh..It sucked. Lunge at the lemon (weren't we supposed to need it). Too much salt on mine. A hurt Divi ('People DO want the salt'). The lemon's not bad after the drink. Aishwarya likes the salt. Divi gives me a triumphant look. Gupta eats the lemon and his words ('I didn't say 'need', I said 'want'. Please.). Amber and Aishwarya loved it. Pooja and I were gonna puke. Rishabh and Divi were awaiting the familiar buzz. Take two.
The second shot is down. Still nothing. We lie down, waiting. Still nothing. Those bloody movies lied. We ate too much. Whatever can 60 ml of alcohol do to you. Give me a break. Pooja is a good girl. Gupta is a sleepy boy. Hedge is the photographer. Divi is still waiting. Aishwarya and Amber move to greeener pastures and 'pitches'. I wait for the taste to leave me mouth.
We savour the moment..We're so cool..