LiveWire

Q. E. D.

2011-11-22T16:48:00.002+05:30

That which needs to be said, has been said.

As a fellow trooper once said, "That'll do, monkey. That'll do."

The end.

The way it was

2010-01-19T12:28:00.002+05:30

Whoever came up with the term heartbreak was only half right.

It's not the same break as the shattering of glass. It's more like a cave in. Something within that completely gave away due to a vaccuum formed in the absence of what now seems to have been a physical entity more than just a feeling and made everything around it fall into that void. Things just got displaced, they didn't expand to fill that space.

It's like something sinking. Except that it never finishes sinking. An inconvenient buoyancy or a constantly regenerated barge keeps it in a perennial mood of sunken-ness, if I can call it that. It refuses to rest at the bottom of whatever ocean lies above the stomach.

But it's definitely the heart that feels it. Not the brain, not the peripheral senses, not the lungs. It's the heart. That damn lump of muscle that should have stuck to circulating blood. This is what happens when it steers away from its purpose and decides to frolic around blissfully at the mere recollection of holding his hand and running through the rain towards shelter.

I'm still breathing, that tells me something somewhere is still functional. Time to let the other organs carry on with life.

Dragonslayers Anonymous

2009-06-22T03:16:00.011+05:30

God bless the American roadways!!!

I thought I'd seen it all in GA-75 and GA-348. The five hour impulse drive on that lazy Sunday afternoon was no match to what I discovered on the bumper sticker of a beat up Dodge Ram on I-85. "I slayed the Tail of the Dragon", it claimed, with the emblem of US highway 129 beside a fire-breathing beast of lore. Search results revealed an international rider's paradise just one mountain hop away. Tennessee.

Not going would be a sin knowingly committed. No penance would liberate me.

Deals Gap was three hours away, and the eleven-mile stretch would be a twenty minute drive. I needed to do more. Perpendicular to the Tail of the Dragon extending from Nantahala National Forest into Cherokee National Forest was the mile-high Cherohala skyway. I packed my compass, a bottle of Gatorade and the Zen.

All said and done, I was late! I had wanted to leave by 5 in the morning so I can stay out of the way of cruisers, speeders and roadsters. The map showed quite a gradation in the altitude through the stretch, there was no way I would not have a line chasing me. And now I wouldn't reach the course until 10. Hopefully everybody was still at church.

Getting there was monotonous. Somebody airlift me across NC, please. Floyd wasn't helping, I needed some pumping long-drive anthems. A gentle drizzle was starting to hint the mood of the day. After what seemed like a day shorter than eternity, I started seeing the dragon insignia on souvenir shops. I soon realised Deals Gap wasn't exactly a township, no post office, no police station, just a stop along route 129. It was a resort in itself. A creek flowed to the left, and slowly turned into rapids and rocky white water. Trucks lined the banks and rafters set into their gear to tumble against/with the current. I sighed, but I had more important things to do. I was looking for the 'start line'. There was none.

Turn 1: WHAT THE... Oh, so that was turn 1.
Turn 2: Ay, Caramba!
Turn 6: Aaaaaaaa...
Turn lost-count: O...k...
Turn 318: Let's do that again!!!

So I took a big U-turn and did it all over again, this time with the windows down, Maiden blaring, and stopping to take in whatever little of the view available in an otherwise shielded mountain route.

The rest of the ride was easy. I did, however, miss wheeling some dirt onto a photographer who raised and immediately lowered his camera (as he had done on the onward drive) when he realised that not only were there four wheels, there were four doors to this toy.

Nobody insults the Civic!

This was one road where I religiously followed the speed limit. They weren't kidding when they set it to 30 (Driving to the previous limit of 55, maintained until 1992, looks arduous now). Checking the official site, I see it wasn't too long ago when riders met their end at the very place.

Reaching Robbinsville beyond Deals Gap, route 143 led into Cherohala. What I missed with the Dragon, the skyway made up for in view and speed. For this stretch, it was best to get the Led out.

There was definitely more traffic on the skyway than I'd seen at the Dragon. I realised I had to pull over and take a break just so I would stop tailing the slower drivers. Meddling with the camera was a perfect breather.

The day wasn't without its black mark. When all the fun driving was done and I was back in the plains on my way home, I had to make a blind 150-degree left turn. Only midway through the turn did I realise it was a blind intersection to the oncoming traffic as well. The other driver looked horrified, but we managed to stay off each other's way. Whatever caused me to be two seconds ahead of him in the whole day saved both of us from ricocheting off each other. Call it God, call it destiny, call it probability, call it coincidence. I worship all of them.

I had to refuel. I made it back to the same fuel station in my neighbourhood ten hours after my earlier refill the same day. The Zen died out when I pulled in at the pump - it had been playing since I left there in the morning. Now that's what I call a one-tank trip.

The one for me

2009-03-17T12:41:00.005+05:30

There lives a man for me
A man, I'm sure, not a woman.

The one for me, my one and only
The stars have aligned to unite our paths.

But will he love me?
Doesn't matter. As long as his parents like me.

Is there a place for me in his heart?
Doesn't matter. There is a place for me in his house.

Will he let me wear black?
Doesn't matter. It's ominous. (Lace excluded.)

Will he be a good person?
Doesn't matter. His parents are the best people in the world, just like mine.

Will he charm me with his humour?
Doesn't matter. He will be taller than me.

Will he respect me and my ideas?
Doesn't matter. He will be Stanford educated.

Will he treat me as an equal?
He better. I'm giving him a hundred kilograms of gold.

Will he headbang with me?
Doesn't matter. He can afford the speakers.

Will no mean no?
Like it matters. Ha!

Will I serve him with love?
Doesn't matter. I will serve him dinner every night.

Will he let me work?
Of course. As long as I am the wife in this marriage.

Will he make my parents happy?
Of course. What kind of question is this?

Will he make me happy?
Of course. Refer star alignment.

Will he make the whole world proud?
Of course. Refer Stanford education, speaker affordability.

Will our children be good people?
Of course. Refer lineage of best people.

Will I forget everything else that happened?
Of cou... Wait... nobody said anything about...

Will I snap and lose my bearings?
Listen... there are duties. As a wife, as a daughter-in-law.

Will I get to speak my mind?
Of course. As long as nobody is offended.

Will I think and act different from others?
Now... why not just be normal for once, like everybody else?

Ok. Come, let's get married.

I don't hate Greyhound

2008-11-28T15:37:00.002+05:30

I swore I would take back everything I said about Greyhound if this happened. And it did. So I keep up my word.

I was scheduled to leave at 11:30 at night to another city in order to take a flight for the Thanksgiving holiday. The flight was early in the morning, but this was the latest I could leave in order to minimize my wait time at the airport. And then a friend told me: The train you have to take from the bus terminal to the airport runs only at these times... and the terminal isn't open at the hour you reach.

I decided to pay the additional $15 for changing my bus schedule to an earlier time: 8.20pm. The change was done; the bus was delayed.

I waited. Scenarios and solutions ran wild in my head. Greyhound. It had led me down. Again. I shouldn't have been surprised, I guess it had been a while since I relied on public transport to get around. If only airport parking fees weren't higher than my train and bus tickets combined...

The bus was to leave at 9.30pm. Scheduled time of arrival 11.35pm. The last train to the airport was at 11.25pm. This is not happening. No, this is just not happening.

Option 1: Wait at the bus terminal. Take the first train in the morning to the airport.

Option 2: Wait at the train terminal. Take the first train in the morning to the airport.

Option 3: If both bus and train terminals are closed, take a local bus to the airport.

Option 4: Call 911. Cry like a baby.

And then it happened. I heard something... Was I hallucinating? Did I inhale some bus fumes? Is it really...? YES! The bus driver honked. He overtook half a dozen cars. I shook out of my state of panic and looked out the window to estimate that he must have been travelling at about 70mph when I've always seen buses on highways keep to 5 below the limit.

It was as though he knew...

My destination was the second of a two-stop journey. The first stop was to be reached at 11pm; he made it there at 10.55. I cursed the people who took more than 10 seconds to get their bags out. I cursed even more the girl who stopped the driver to ask him something. I stopped myself from cursing the driver for closing the baggage compartment too slowly. I needed him to be curse-free for the next 30 minutes.

Should I make a desperate plea to him? Perhaps he might consider my situation and make an informed attempt to reach the final stop before it is too late. I was almost about to get off my seat when he slammed the door, hit the lights, and stepped on it.

And then I swore... if this happens, I will take back everything I ever said about Greyhound. This one man's action is reason enough for me.

11.15pm. I can see the skyline. We are close. But the midnight traffic is surprisingly high.

11.17pm. Screeeeeeeech. The bus steers to the left lane and brakes to a halt. I had just then heard metal crumble and glass shatter to my right. The SUV that was ahead of us had collided head on into a pick-up truck at high speed. The bus driver had avoided getting into the mess in a split second.

11.22pm. The bus terminal. We had reached. But the passengers in the seats ahead of me were slow in alighting. Curses.

I got off the bus. I ran into the terminal and out through the front door. The chill hit me. I ran down the flight of stairs at the entrance. "Damn... you so fine..." I felt his breath on my cheek. I didn't stop to look at his face. The train station was across the street. I prayed that the doors not be locked. I smiled in gratitude as I pulled them open. I ran down the escalator in search of tracks, listening hard for chugging wheels, looking here and there for train schedules.

11.25pm. The train was a minute late. As I ran down to the track, I heard it coming. I saw it coming. I saw it not slowing down. I was on the wrong track.

I ran upstairs to the information booth, and was told to head in the opposite direction.

I ran down the correct stairs. The train had stopped a while, and was starting to move. No, no, no.

The conductor saw me. "Airport?"
"Yes."
"Hop on."
"Thank you!"
YES !!!!!!!!

I reached the airport and called the host of my holiday visit to update. "Hey! What are you doing at this late hour? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

Hmmm.

Inner workings of a certified loser

2008-11-01T23:06:00.003+05:30

Many a general matter-of-conversation questions from those aged 25 to 50 with different social backgrounds have led me into 2-minute soul searching trances on multiple occasions.

"So, what do you do for fun?"
"I…"
What DO I do? Listen to music. Everybody does that. Come up with something else. I listen to classics on vinyl. Heck, 20 records of a random assortment from The Kinks to Tchaikovsky do not count for being an audiophile. Well, I do have 30 gigs of mp3. That is low even by my standards… I'm not going to talk about it. Perhaps I should say I play the guitar. Reality check: can't hold down an F chord. What else do I do? Photography. Ownership of a canon S5 and a handful of foliage shots do not qualify for photography. Read. No… don't ever say that. One, you aren't a bookworm, you picked up your first book hardly 3 years ago. Two, you read world history, science and religion. Don't want people to think you are linked to a terror network now, do you? Comics. Graphic novels. No, haven't read enough. I could say I like to hike. But thought has not manifested into action. My last hike was ages ago. Hmmm… oh yes, I like to drive. But driving an automatic means nothing. The better phrase would be I like to go on long drives. But those drives have had destinations: places, people. Rephrase: I like to meet up with friends. Everybody does that. Back to square one.

"Hello?"
"I… well, not much, the usual…"

"You stay downtown… you must like the nightlife!"
"Actually, no…"
I don't drink, I don't gyrate, I can't headbang to hip hop. So that rules out the stereotypical nightlife you expect me to enjoy. I live where I live simply because I cannot live in a neighbourhood which believes that street lighting leads to environmental imbalance, and that sleeping amidst trees gets one spiritually closer to nature. Neither do I believe that watching little children learn to ride their bicycle is a sign of hope for the joy and progress of mankind.

"Oh you should try the restaurant row, it's quite good!"
"Yes, but I'm a vegetarian."
And I found half a dozen places to eat incredible food outside the city.
"No wonder you are so thin."
The two are very unrelated, and no I'm not a diet.
"But what kind of nutrition can you get?!"
"I can get everything I need."

And I don't have to kill an animal for it.

"So are you vegan?"
"No."
I'm a Hindu, not a hippie.
"Why don't you try some of…"
"Sorry, I must decline today. It's my fortnightly fast."
"You fast ?!"
"Yes. Scientific and religious."
My way of trying to tell my hunger who's the boss.

"Movies?"
"Offbeat."
"Like?"
Blanked out… oh no not now! Come up with something, anything… what's the name of that movie I saw last night?!

"Watch any TV?"
"No, don't have one."
I needn't have said that. I still watch everything I want to, online.
"No TV?! You've got to be kidding me!"
"Done with TV. Wasted enough time in school and college."
Not to mention the fact that nowadays reality shows dominate every network, have made the dumb even dumber, made everyone self-righteous and judgmental, when the central characters were chosen on their immoral inappropriateness and a regression of the number of Google hits against the money to be paid for being on the show. News channels will die out unless Americans are at war with something. They fail to identify, among other things, that fuel prices have gone down. And of course, USA loves all and nobody returns the favour. I watch… Anime? Negative. Five full series only. Not enough.

"Damn, you don't have any fun at all, do you?"
"Guess so."
Guess again. Your point of reference to measure the value of my lighter side has just been proven to be from a different domain.

Working woman!

2007-05-24T06:30:00.000+05:30

The first day of work. It was 7:30 in the morning.

"Hey, Joe? Um... I'm lost."

My boss picked me up and drove me to the office. What a start! It so happened that I was lost on a stretch of road thinking there was nothing beyond the barricade, when in fact the office was a 10 minute walk further down.

The usual orientation: cafeteria, mailroom, restroom (which literally was for resting: it had a couch!) and my very own cubicle. Right next to the boss'. And of course, plenty of brochures and other material to read. 4 hours I sat inside a box. Rather, I couldn't. Kept pacing around like a dog chasing its tail.

Lunch time, at last. Followed boss. Ran back, brought ID to be able to swipe back in. Then realized I didn't bring my wallet. Ran back, brought cardholder. Then realized cash only. Ran back, brought cash. Did not want to make eye contact with anyone after that, but still had half a day to go!!!

Spices, apparently, are unheard of in vegetarian cooking here. I was served pasta with no sauce and salted corn when I asked for veggie helpings. Thank god they at least had onion rings :) General discussions about work ensued.

Another 4 hours, walking in circles. At least I got some thinking work done when at it. But by the time it was 4.50, i was counting the seconds...

Met a whole lot of people, didn't remember anyone's names at the end of the day. It was like the first day at a new school, only this time, I'll have the embarassing details for life.

Highlight of the day, though:
After I clarify the project details (which turns out to be a major cross-functional problem that has to be modelled and analysed)
"So, are there any more interns to come?"
"No, you're the only intern in the project."
"Who is the team, the four of us?"
"No, just you."
"Err..."
"And me of course, I'm your manager."
Seriously, Joe, we gotta talk about my compensation.

The tale of the eternal bus misser

2006-12-30T03:11:00.001+05:30

Huff...
Puff...
Huff...
Puff...
Nooooooooo.........
After an uphill run, there was the bus, whizzing away without me.

I have a knack for missing buses. There are times when I would be a minute late, and the bus would have left. There are times when I would be there on dot, and the bus would have still left, early. There are times when I leave early (in my defence, early enough...), and the bus would have been earlier still! I have a bad luck with buses.

I was so afraid, that when I left NYC after thanksgiving, I reached the bus stop 1 hour in advance so I wouldn't miss it. For the rest of the journey, I was hungry. When I had left home during the break, I reached the bus stop 30 minutes in advance. But in my anxiety, I forgot to bring my passport for a flight I was to take in a few days. When we stopped in Harrisburg, I missed the bus because it was overbooked. I had to wait 2 hours for the next one. I was in half a mind to go back home.

I had to call my roommate and ask her to bring my passport to Philadelphia, and meet her when she gets there to take a flight. Sad part was, I had to take a bus to go to Philadelphia. And this time too, I missed it. I missed it big.

It was that morning when I left Greenbelt, and Kiran came to Washington to send me off. After we got out of the train station, we were searching for I Street. Rather, we thought it was First Street, and later someone corrected us that it wasn't the Roman numeral '1', it was upper case 'i'. So the entire time, we had to have looked for 'i' street.

We ran.

I called the bus service when I was on the way. Chinese guy tried hard to understand what I said, and I tried hard to drain out the traffic noise and get what he was saying. He told his address alright, but not the directions. I told him I was on my way, just 5 minutes, please hold the bus.

5 minutes later, I was almost there. We found H street, K street, there was no I street in between. There was a Manhattan St in its place! This can't be right... We ran. More. I called them up again, nobody answered. Poor Kiran. My little trolley suitcase was too heavy to lift and run, but too short to drag and run. I took it from him, gave him my phone, asked him to keep calling them. Finally someone did answer, and the bus had left. I was still searching for their office.

When I did get there, they went on and on in some accented English that I didn't understand a word of. What I did get, was that they had no more buses running, but there was another bus service around the corner, with a bus to Philadelphia leaving any minute!

We ran. Again.

That bus had already left too. At least they had another bus, but that was at 4 in the evening, reaching at 6 45. My roommate had to be in the airport by that time, so bye-bye passport!

Dejected, we stood outside the bus office. Kiran suggested we get back to the train station, since that is the only other fast way to Philadelphia. (Don't even start about taking a flight... I don't have my passport... catch-22 here)

We got there, and the next train to Philly was in 5 minutes!
Put me on it pleeeeez!
Sure, do you have some ID?
Er... Student ID ok?
Sure!
Oh thank you thank you thank you!
Thank god I did not bring a big suitcase, I couldn't have checked it in!

After a quick goodbye hug and more running, I got into the train, collapsed into the seat, unable to bear the cramps, not to mention the fact that I had run enough to counter a month's consumption of choc chip cookies.

I reached Philly in time to meet my roomie, took my passport from her. At the end of the day, all was well... and I was $68 short :(

I hate greyhound

2006-12-29T20:56:00.000+05:30

I took a bus from my campus at 3 in the afternoon, scheduled to reach Washington at 7.50pm. There was to be a transfer at the not-so-nearby city of Harrisburg.

The bus left at 3.15, but reached H-burg at 4.55 itself. Perfect, I was impressed! We took our luggage out of the bus, saw a Washington bus leave at 5, waited for the one we were supposed to board.

So we waited.

And we waited.

It took me a while to realize only half the passengers who had come with me were still there. Where were the others? Why am I waiting with these guys, I'm not even sure if they're going the same way as me!

I waited. It was 6.45pm by then. No way was a bus going to take me to DC before 7.50! There had to be a mistake. And me being the genius that I am, must be the one to have committed it. I went into the bus station, waited for the receptionist. She told me the one that reaches a 7.50 left the terminus at 5. The one I saw leaving. The one with half the passengers who came with me.

The one I should have been on.

Dejected with myself, I drag my feet outside to the cold. How could I have been so stupid ???

Where the remaining guys supposed to take the next bus? Is that why they were waiting? Was i on another schedule? But who in their right mind would book their tickets specifically asking for a two-hour layover? No, can't be. Am I really making sense? But before all of that, can I still take the next bus with my old ticket ?!?! I rush back in, the same girl nods in familiarity. Yes hon, ya' can use it for the next one! Thanks Ma'am!

Out again, having cleared up the confusion on the ticket, I set out to find out what is really going on. What I found out left me speechless.

The bus I was (well, me and the other two dozen people were) supposed to take was overbooked. Yes, overbooked. That means more than one person had been sold the ticket to a single seat, expecting half of them to not turn up. Typical ticketing system, but not at this magnitude. You can sell two extra tickets for every twenty or thirty seats. Not 25 extra tickets for 50 seats. And although this has been going on for a very long time now (I learnt of that too), another bus is usually sent to ferry the remaining passengers to the same destination. Senseless. Double the running costs for half the used capacity. I guess Greyhound Operations did come to their senses, but only on the day that I had to wait at a seedy-looking bus station in the middle of a crime-ridden capital in the dark hours of the winter evening. They did not send the second bus. At all.

We took the next bus on routine schedule, but it so happened that we got priority and those who were headed to other places who couldn't fit in the bus, had to wait for the next one.

I reached Washington DC at 11 in the night. And trust me, you don't want to be there. It is not Capitol, it is not the White house, it is of no significant importance, that means no security to a commoner. The nearest train station was a 5 minute walk, but more than 2 people (locals themselves) told me NO!!!

I had to wait for my host to pick me up and escort me all the way. It was 1 when I reached his place.

When there is nothing else, I don't have an option. But nevertheless, I hate Greyhound.

My days...

2006-11-07T10:57:00.000+05:30

The morning starts with waking up to the beep of the alarm. It is 8 45. Hmmm, class is only at 11 15, the bus is at 10 50, i need to leave the house at 10 47, i need to put on my shoes at 10 45, i need to start my breakfast at 10 35, i need to pack my lunch (and snack, and water, and gatorade... not the lime flavour, it's lemony! Not the grape flavour, it's grapy! Orange flavour, hmmm, not so orangy, i'll take that) at 10, i need to get dressed at 9 50 (moisturiser, moisturiser... dry skin? No... Oily skin? No... Normal to oily skin, that's the one!) not to forget sunscreen. Just a teensy dab of the spf-20 lotion to protect my soft rosy cheeks from the burning november sun in this hill station. So, I need to have my bath at 9 30. 45 minutes more. I go back to sleep.

"Wake up, woman, it is 10 !!!"

Who... where am i... damn... what the...

Thankfully, my roomie is quick at everything. She blitzes through her shower, so I have the bathroom at my disposal. She's already packed her lunch the previous night, pours milk and cereal into a bowl, and she's off. If only I could!

I yawn through the shower, swear at the dryness in the air that forces me to apply moisturiser for 5 whole minutes everyday, apply extra layer of sunscreen on my face, coz I know I have to walk the whole way. Thank god for my gentle exfoliating face wash bar, I can get all this off in the night.

I put rice to cook in the pressure cooker, meanwhile heating the 3-day-old vegetable and kozhambu in the microwave. I'm simultaneously making porridge, stirring the boiling milk. Not 1%, it's unpalatable, not 2% (BIG difference), it's still unpalatable, not skimmed milk, it's still very unpalatable. WHOLE milk. Full fat. Vitamin D. Just so it can get past my tongue. I need to pack a snack. One snack won't do. Make it two. One bottle of trail mix. Almonds, raisins, dried pineapple, papaya, peanuts, walnuts. Two sets of sandwich. Whole wheat bread with strawberry preserves and... hmmm... what do I put on the other side? Plain unsalted butter or creamy peanut butter? Wait a minute, I'm carrying two sandwiches. I'll apply each on one. The rice is ready. I pack it into a microwaveable lunch box and stuff it into my bag.

My bag. My home away from home. I load it with a mini version of everything. Umbrella, water bottle, 3 different colored folders for three subjects, a notebook, pencil pouch, planner (ye, I'm busy!!!) calculator, post-its (pink or yellow? Compromise. Pink for my bag, yellow for my table), wallet, keys, mints, comb, lip balm, moisturiser (more!), campus map, bus schedule, lunch, snack, drink, gloves, cap... it goes on. I stare at the back of the door, wondering what to wear. My denim jacket, the university branded sweatshirt, or the double layered winter jacket. It may be sunny, but that doesnt mean it ain't freezing cold. I go for the last option.

My denim-blue leather strapped casual sporty watch says 11. Class in 15 minutes. I start from home, my 30 GB jukebox in hand and the mega bookbag on my bony back. I walk, walk, walk. Up and down the hilly slopes (Happy valley, they call it. Ye, right. Some valley.) Huff, puff, pant. Cars speed by, thankfully I don't cough to their exhausts. I walk past the green meadows... wait, that is a football field. I walk past tall trees... wait, they are houses made of wood. I walk past a coin lying on the pavement... wait, that's a condom.

It is 11 20 when I reach the department. I rush to the classroom. Ouch!!! Static electricity in the air gives my thumb a bad shock, and I wince in pain for 2 seconds. I'm still catching my breath, I'm inside class, the professor glances at me, nothing new, acknowledges my constistent 5-minute late arrival to his class. I pull out the folder and my 0.7 leaded pencil when I realise I have no clue what he is talking about.

The next class isn't all that bad. I nod along to everything he says. The next class is bad, it is for 75 minutes.

I go for work, tutoring tired athletes. I throw calculus at them when all they want is a good night's sleep.
"So... what am I trying to find again?"
"So... oh, wait, my mistake..."
"So... Hey ye that's the answer!"
"So... ye that makes sense, I'm comfortable with that."
"So... if it is x multiplying 8+x, does the x go to both or jus the 8?"
God shall not forgive me for it, but at least he pays me for the month's expenses. Thank you Lord.

I walk back home at 10. I wonder if I should settle for a box of chocolate chip cookies, or have pasta with chunky garden vegetable sauce. Then I remember I still have food in the fridge. I heat and eat the now 3-and-half day old vegetable and kozhambu for dinner, check my mail, break my head over the assignment whose submission is in 2 days. I give up, have a glass of cold milk with dark chocolate syrup, cleanse the cosmetics off my face with the glycerine bar, brush my sensitive teeth with a medicated tooth paste and go to bed.

And I say a little prayer. Thank you God, for not letting me give in to this materialistic world...

Er...

2006-07-15T15:17:00.000+05:30

12 hours after venting all my fury on my personal space in the world wide web, I got my visa.

Hehe...

AU Hustle

2006-07-15T02:55:00.000+05:30

It is so hard to not swear. So bloody hard.

I had only one arrear to take care of, this last semester. And that was over on the 27th of April. After that, I was home for exactly a month, with chicken pox. Manal vaari amman, to be more specific.

It was on the 29th of May that I finally stepped out of the house. June 9 was my visa interview. The only things I could do (no no... I could get done) were my course completion certificate and department attested marksheets. And even for that I had to run between the department and the CoE office.

Interview was over, I was put on hold. I came to college almost everyday to beg for my results. And beg, I did.

Grant me my bail, I beseech you!

But no. It will take a week. These five words I heard for six weeks. In different voices, in different intonations, in different moods, in different languages. And all of those weeks I went to remind them that I was waiting for my PC.

Meanwhile, on the 20th, a special bunch of PCs came for those students who needed it for admissions and visas. The list had my name, though my interview was over, and though my result was not out yet.

(Enter sarcasm... My only unbeatable alternative!)

It cannot be, I tell myself. The university will check the results of the students and issue the certificates - these are equivalent to a degree! Silly girl, did you really think they will type out the names as on the list and blindly hand it over? Yet out of sheer desperation, I rush from home to the department. It is half an hour to closing time. I puff and pant and reach the air-conditioned reception of the HOD's office. The dreary eyed maid lifts her ear to my voice "Ma'am could you please check for my PC..."

She wriggles out of her tiresome throne and fishes into an envelope to draw out the treasure. Pink diamonds? Nay, the provisional certificates. She turns leaf over leaf; the hassles of the day have taken their toll on her. She is tired, the poor damsel. She is unable to turn more. She skims through the last few. "It is not here", she says.

Of course, how can it be? The results are not out.

I leave, reasoning to myself, while the distressed daisy stretches her arms with a squirm that I could only see on a woman enacting her pregnancy.

I run to the CoE everyday after that, writing letters, meeting everyone in his office, requesting over and over (and over and over) again to know my results. Frustrated, and out of sheer anxiety that my father should not involve himself in this, I walk into the dean's office, make a polite request. With the touch of a button, I am taken to stand five metres from the paper containing my result. "You have made it", says the maiden there.

Leaping with joy, I rush to see my class advisor so he will sign the PC application to be submitted to the HOD.

Monday. July 10th. The PC application has been handed over to the CoE's office.

Tuesday. July 11th. I go to the department office to ask for Asif's PC and gradesheets. Surely, at least his must have come by now. A motherly lady has the treasure envelope now. Wait, something else lies there. A cover sheet. Names. Roll numbers. Classification. She checks for Asif. Not in the first page. Yes, in the second page. But wait, something familiar. My name! Right there. Towards the end. Voice quivering, fingers trembling, "Could you please..." "Yes, here is yours..."

I hold it in hand as if it were the extension of my intellect. (In a way... it certifies my intellect in ways only mugpots know best) The map to the world's goldmines. I read it, line by line. I read it with joy, until I saw the date.

20/06/2006

Like I said, it is so hard not to swear. Having kept it under check for well over a year now, I see no reason to break it. At the same time, I will melt if I didn't. So let me leave this outburst to your imagination.

A good man, the HOD. But his assistant... Not once have I seen her do her work right. Forever that half asleep look, that half asleep voice, always in pain to do this, always tired to do that. If only she had gone through the PCs the way she should have. She wouldn't let me take them and search. Then why the ...on earth... did she put a scene to search by herself. "Oh! My arms hurt so much!" Ye, freak. It will hurt much more when we're both in hell and I'm the one holding you down with the pitchfork in a cauldron of boiling oil. May she get stabbed a million times by poisoned daggers. May she be bombarded with cannonballs at close range. May she lose her way in a desert on an alien planet and her flesh be picked on by scavenging creatures while she has still not breathed her last. May she die the slowest most painful death ever possible by the will of God.

So, I got my PC after all. Why am I still mad? Coz chaos theory worked. The flap of a butterfly's wings on one coast causing a hurricane on the other coast. Let me tell you how. Had I gotten the PC that very day, I would have submitted the passport with it in VFS for my visa. I would have it back in 3 days with the visa stamp. I would have left to visit my grandparents, stayed 2 weeks with them, returned, gone shopping, had all formalities completed well before time, and rested in peace. But thanks to my acceptance of her lethargy, I submitted the passport 3 days ago and it is yet to be processed. One anxious grad admit even mentioned that his passport, submitted by same process for the same reason just before mine, would take 15 days to come. What if this were a bottleneck at the consulate? The days of running to and fro, when I could have as well spent more of the last days in the company of real friends, the nights my father's blood pressure kept rising, the calls from grandparents, frustration in their voices and mine that the 2 week stay was now reduced to a 2 day stay, sleepless nights spent fearing the worst, travel formalities constantly postponed 'until visa comes'... And now everything needs to be done in hardly a month. No peace of mind. No nothing. But it still makes no difference to a lazy hag complaining of how her arm aches from flipping pages.

That my PC had come after classification on the 20th itself could mean one of these two things. That my gut was right and logic was wrong - they did process it parallely and hand over the PCs by classifying with whatever CGPA was available in their records, not checking anything else. Are they that careless? Or my gut was wrong and logic was right - I got the PC because my results had been entered in the system, although not released officially. The PC is dated 20th June, the results came 13th July. Can someone tell me why?

Burn, vile gargoyles of this university, burn... BURN !!!

Consular Rhapsody

2006-06-09T11:48:00.000+05:30

I woke up at 6 in the morning. Had kept the alarm for 5 30, but perhaps my subconscious mind is still unaware of a visa interview today. Showered, prayed, ate. Left home at 6 45. Dad still asked why, the interview is only at 7 45! But dad, the queues won't disappear. And right I was. At the consulate, there were more than 60 people waiting ahead of me! This was the story at 7 in the morning. So, I had said my prayers so many times now, I needed to find another way to kill time. To find the longest song, sing it. There was a 22 minute song by Jethro Tull, but all i know is the one line 'Thick as a brick' and a little flute tune after that. Wouldn't help. Bohemian Rhapsody... hmmm... i know that one! What was funnier was inside my head, it all looked like a grand stage with a musical going on.

I stood in the queue near the Oxford Univ Press, vehicles passed by, joggers passed by, each with a look 'Hmmm, in a few more years, i will be there too' or 'Ah, these darn kids...They don't know what they're doing' or 'Hope they make India a better place'. Well, it is not like students were the only people there, but still we got the looks.

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because i'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low
Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me

7 15 on the clock, and the queue started shaping up. Those with the interviews alone moved to the other side of the security gate. The others walked back to the OUP gate. One of the security guards was extremely rude at getting people to stand in line. I had to look down at my feet and check if I had toes or hoofs.

Was wondering if this guy was permanently like this. There were business people, students, old folks, kids in the queue. Everyone was 'rounded up' and brought into formation along the railing outside the consulate wall. Do people really send us all these documents saying 'sure, come on over, we need you here so much!' only to be guided by the shepherd?

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye.
So you think you can love me and leave me to die.
Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here.

So, thanx to an old lady, me and the guys behind me realised that people with interviews at 7 45 can go right ahead without standing in the queue, and we weaved our way through the queue. I must have said 'excuse me' at least about 50 times. Also needed to make sure these people didn't think we were cutting in. An argument early in the morning and that too before an important interview is distasteful, and we didn't want any trouble.

I'm there. I rehearse my answers. I look around. Am I meant to be here? Am I meant to do this? What if all this is only a disappointment?

Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time.
Goodbye, ev'rybody, I've got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.

After the security check, we were taken to counters and made to sit there. It was not a room, not a building, just open with greenery on opposite sides, security check behind us and the counters in front of us. This is where they give us the visa? Nah, can't be. I waited, and slowly people are called, asked for initial documents, given a folder and directed to the main building. Ah, ok!

The building has heavy doors. And i mean really heavy. It wasn't even push to open! (Maybe we aint welcome there) I had to stand firm and heave the door open with both hands. Not my first time, I had been to the consulate before to register for a visa counselling session. Same kinda door, same trouble. And while standing in the queue to get fingerprinted, there was a yellow line I saw but didn't realise (Happens if you sing too much inside your head, and you get lost in your own world).The couple ahead of me walked upto the counter, and I followed them.
'Psssttt... The yellow line...' comes a voice from behind me.
'Huh?'
Oh ye, the yellow line. The one you aint supposed to cross unless it is your turn. When they say don't cross the line, they really mean, don't cross the line! I hopped back to my position, gave an embarassed 'yikes' grin to the fellow behind me who had told me.

Ok, fingerprinted and sent to the queue to face the Visa Officer. There were two couples ahead of me. One wants to visit an old friend in the US, the other wants to visit their son.

He's just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstruosity.
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go.

And the VO says to the former...

Bismillah! No, we will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go. (Let me go.) Ah.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

The second couple make it through. Then me.
I 20.
Marksheets.
GRE, TOEFL scores.
Financial Document.
Oh mama mia, mama mia! Mama mia, let me go!

Documents were checked, questions were asked, answers were given.
'You qualify for a visa, but since you do not have a PC, we'll give you the visa only after you submit it. You can do it by the dropbox, you needn't come here again.'
Magnifico!
'Thank you.'

Ah, the PC. My college did it again!

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me

I collect the documents and leave. Then I realise... he had asked me to submit my DS Application forms along with the PC. But he had kept them. I don't have a copy!!! Gotta figure something out. Come on, I didn't come all this way to lose out at the end, and that too like this! There must be a way. Have to call VFS, maybe even check with the office in person. But there must be a way.

Not quite in a mood for celebration, I can't rest until I get my results and my PC and finally see the seal in my passport. Long way to go...

My father is happy, but isn't smiling. He expected the actual visa. Was worried that my backlogs were interfering so much. My mother was fine, but she also had her concerns. I will do what needs to be done, life will take the course it is meant to.

Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry,
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.

A tribute to Queen, for keeping me alive and undisturbed till the very end. I lost track of how many times I sand the song. I jus know I was standing in one place, swaying sideways, oblivious to the real life around me, lost inside my own theatre.

Pri's bday!

2006-06-02T11:22:00.000+05:30

On the night of sunday the 28th May, ravi thought we should do someth to surprise the bday girl. sure, she had invited us all to her place, but that wasnt enough to make it special. he
thought we should perhaps play a prank on her! but what do we do sitting at home on a sunday night? whatever plans we come up with will hav to b implemented between 9 and 12 the next day, coz we had to be at her place by then!

So, think, think...

We even googled it!

Think, think...

Conference with whoever was there...

Think, think...

Finally, we decided we could have a birthday cake with a balloon inside so it'd burst, trick candles, confetti inside balloons to pop over her head. Ravi had more heinous ideas, but no way was i gonna let that happen! And her mom n granny would be around, so couldn't do some other stuff.

Next morn, (the day I finally left home after a month!) the first thing I do is go to the VFS office to change my I20 number. Turns out it was some Memorial Day in the US, hence an official holiday, and this office was closed as well. Hmmm...so these guys get the American holidays. As Indians, they would get Indian holidays too, right? And yet they get the work done.

So, it's 10 already. Where do we get the party stuff? Check from Cenotaph Road to Villivakkam...Ravi said the cake shop near house was still closed, and so started to Anna nagar. I stopped at Spencers Daily on Nelson Manickam Road. Nothing. I stopped at Angel's in Anna Nagar. Nothing! I take a 360 and go to Odyssey on the same road. Yes. By this time, Ravi is at Anna Nagar Roundtana. He joins me. Got everything but the confetti. And cake of course. So, off to McRennett from there. They don't make dummy cakes. And no black forrest. Ravi leaves to SS in search of a cake, I go to Shanti Colony for confetti (wrong place, but that was the only other shopping area nearby) and what do I see? Cake Point. Black forrest. Ye baby! Got it.

Hmm, confetti confetti confetti... Not a single fancy store in sight! Finally, found one on the same street as Pri's house! a thread store with lots of chamki and stuff like that. Got it!

Ravi made sure Pri was busy upstairs while we hid the cake in the fridge (well, you can't call it hiding...it was the only place to put it, in plain sight) and stashed my bag with the goods under her granny's bed. Then upstairs to join the merry women and poor little Ravi had to sit quietly by the side, he had no company, nor a single inclusive conversation! Talk about a ladies' man feeling out of place among ladies!

It must have been around 1 or 1 30. I call Pri to the next room to have some heart-to-heart girlie talk, and Ravi takes the others downstairs to set up the place. We would have been speaking for about 15 minutes when Pri goes to the other room to take a call on her phone. She keeps walking, talking, and looks at what's goin on downstairs. Voices ring from below "Hey!!! Why did you let her come downstairs??"

Pri laughs. She knew about the whole thing. Especially because she went to get us juice, which was in the fridge, in the same compartment as the cake. Some surprise that was! She saw the whole thing coming, even guessed we'll be lighting the trick candles.

She still decided to act surprised. So we sent her upstairs, prepared everything, and then called her.
"Surpriiiiiiise!!!"
"Wow, I'm soooo surpriiiiiised!!!"
We still put good mokkai :P

So, candles were lit.
She huffed,

she puffed,

and she blew them all away!!

What she didn't see coming was the snow spray!!! Haha, gotcha there pri!!!

Highlights of the day:

Pri and Ravi fought. This time, coz she wanted him to shut up, so took a big fat roll of tape and tried to wrap it around his face.

But it ended up around her hands, and she had to wriggle out of it!

Pri and her glowing personality... he he

we tested the strength of silky's jelly belly by balancing a plate of jackfruits on it. And what dyu know, it stayed still!

Nothing much happened after that, we were just watching tv, ganging up on mars (he said something to put himself in trouble!) generally chatting, and later called it a day.

Later at night, I got a msg from Pri sayin the day was made really special! That was worth it :)

An intervention

2006-05-25T09:13:00.000+05:30

This sunday, the 28th of May, at 5 pm, there will be an intervention by volunteers of the Blank Noise Project from Chennai at Besant Nagar Beach.

The idea is to silently confront eve teasers/harassers of any sort, even lecherous staring.

******

Here are excerpts from their home page:

Blank: no form, no meaning.
Noise: heightens, builds, breaks form.
Blank Noise put together are two words that contradict themselves.

We experience eve teasing daily. It is a sexual violation but we ignore it. At the same time, we structure our lives to avoid the occurrence of it - by 'dressing decently', 'coming back home on time', etc, thereby making unwanted rules for ourselves and not recognizing ourselves as citizens.

This daily silent experience of street sexual harassment is what comes closest to the term blank noise.

Blank Noise is interventionist, and critically reflective of the issue. It seeks to confront, and create communitoes through public art. Blank Noise works with people through performance, blogging, and street intereventions.

This is a public art project seeking to address eve teasing. There are several ways to address an issue and we choose the language of public and community art.

Is it all about the women?

It may be called 'eve' teasing and spoken of as if it happens only to women but we have found that men also experience street sexual harassment. They just have a different way of looking at their bodies and dealing with the issue. As women, we are taught to protect our bodies and we are layered with ideas of modesty and shame. Izzat. Lajja. Men are expected to be men – mard - and they are supposed to deny that they can be victims, too.

So a roughly typical reaction might be – yes, I got felt up but I pity the bugger because he's gay.

Eve teasing, therefore, despite its rather misleading nomenclature, is not an all-girl issue but a societal one. By being a mute witness, by teasing (sexually harassing) or by ignoring/ denying the issue, we are responsible for it.

All you need to do to join Blank Noise is get in touch with us. If you feel strongly enough about eve-teasing and are willing to do something about it, Blank Noise would be glad to have you on board. And we can use any skills you have from writing to artwork to design to being net-savvy or just being willing to give your time to spreading awareness.

Currently, Blank Noise participants include researchers, college students, journalists, technicians, activists, an architect, and young professionals. There are both men and women, and just happen to fall between the age groups of 17-30 years.

******

Calling everyone who wishes to change the way things are run. Do your part. Make a difference. It may be a trickle, so what?

Send an email to blurtblanknoise@gmail.com with your city name in the subject line to participate.

For more details: http://blanknoiseproject.blogspot.com/

Chennai City Branding

2006-05-06T10:33:00.000+05:30

Chennai

Something different I came across. Maybe it is being done on the same lines as 'I lov NY' or something like that...

Eppadi iruntha naan...

2006-05-04T21:34:00.001+05:30

It has been a week since I had a bath. I'm now officially a stinker. No matter how much my mom tries to deny it, saying the medicinal wonders of neem will keep me from stinking, the neem has sometimes confused me. I don't know if that greenish thingie around my shin is a dried neem patch or some kinda fungal growth...gotta examine.

My stench is so strong, that the only thing strong enough to penetrate this cloak of odour is the only thing i'm forbidden to touch - Masala.

Masala. Of all days, now. Masala. My mother hasn't trained my taste buds to expect it in her cooking. Yet here I am, dreaming of Masala. The neighbour lady callously leaves her kitchen window open to fill my apartment with the sensuous aroma of the good masala that she prepares from scratch for her biriyani. Ah, biriyani. The last time I had it was one of our project lunches when dad bought it from the Hyd Biriyani shop on the other side of the main road. Those were the happy days. Me, Pri, Ravi, Collins treating ourselves to some tongue-tickling flavours (still vegetarian!) of the biriyanis, and the curries. The scent of the masala takes me to different worlds. It is no longer Priya next to me, it is a golden pot of Aloo Mutter . At a corner of the room Kimi calls out to me, fresh ground masala in his hand. 'I'm coming Kimi...I'm coming'!!! Lights flash, and I'm on stage with Jimmy Page. He is strumming Stairway to Heaven, but it is not a guitar. It is biriyani. 'Come my sweet, we shall make spicy music', he says. I surrender at his feet, and he gently raises my chin. I see him kneeling beside me, a platter of Panneer Tikka seasoned and marinated in his hand. 'Release me, I pray, release me from your fingers that have clutched me with this temptation'. 'Not even for me, my love?' An arm from behind spins me around. Hobbes! Damn, talk about ruining a fantasy with a stuffed tiger...

All with one whiff of a neighbour's cooking! Hmmm... They say you don't know how precious something is until it is gone. So true. Thankfully this will be gone only for a few more weeks. It also got me to appreciate mom's cooking. After 3 days of nothing more than curd rice (minus the pickle, mind you) with raw onions (supposedly helps cool the body and clean out the blood, if only it can get past my tongue) I couldn't take it any more. God knows how I would survive in the US by myself. Then mom saw my suffering and made sambhar. She couldnt add even a pinch of spice. So she had to use a different pulse that would give its own taste to the sambhar, with tomatoes and salt alone, nothing else. Knowing how I craved for food, she even added slices of raddish - just the way I like them. And for three days now, I have been literally feasting on that sambhar, how much ever she makes, it will be emtpy that night. To alleviate it further, she even made boiled and salted carrots for side dish. I'm holding back a tear... On any other day, I would have said 'Yuck, gimme some real food!' But now, it is amirtham...

Ah, enough about food. I'll be hungry soon again. There is good news though. Doc says the boils should dry up by sunday, so i guess the marks will also disappear in 2 more weeks. But the next few days are when the disease could spread the most, so I'm to restrict myself more to the walls of my room (which also haven't been swept or mopped in a week, so much for Amman's sanctum!) and avoid coming into contact with anyone, even parents, coz they could spread it to others. So that means more music, more blogging!

Pox it is!

2006-04-29T11:50:00.000+05:30

I have no idea why I hesitate to lock horns with my mother. It would be so easy to beat her!

After hours and hours of pestering her to find the English name of Manal Vaari Amman, she said she'll call up my uncle (a doctor) and check it up.

So, night around 9, I'm tired after doing almost nothing, lying in my room, on the maroon saree with the neem leaves around (still remember Karpoora Nayagiye...?) Mom walks into my room with phone in hand. Thought she was comin to tell me the name of the Amman.

"Hello, how are you? Yes, we are fine. Aswini wants to talk to you."
Wow, she dialled the number all by herself. Saved my energy.
"Hello chittappa..." And I go on to tell him symptom after symptom, when and where it started, how much it spread, how big, etc etc.
"It's chicken pox. I'm sure."
Er...But... Didn't I already...No, that conversation is with my mother, after I hang up.
"And your mother will tell you it is Mariamman or Kali Atha or something. Please remember it is a virus. It will go by itself, no treatment needed. But take a drug I tell you, it will avert dangerous after-effects like deafness or blindness."
Now, my mom was a science teacher! So of course she knows that this is a virus and how it comes and how it leaves. As for me, I'm just gonna stick to the Amman story, makes the disease fun for 10 days.

After giving her the coldest of all cold stares, I hand her the phone to take down the medicine prescribed. She hears the "chicken pox" too. The entire time, I'm staring at her. Once done, she looks at me and asks, "So, did you hear it for yourself?"

"Yes. More importantly, did YOU hear it?"
"Of course. I told you."
"You told me Manal Vaari Amman."
"That is chicken pox."
"In which part of Tamil Nadu?"
"That is what it is called."
"I thought you said I already had the pox."
"That was measles!"
"What? Since when?"
"Measles is that tiny prickly heat like stuff."
Ah yes, the tiny prickly heat like stuff. Any more adjectives, similes, metaphors mother dear? Or, should I add hyperboles to the list too?

So, chicken pox is what I have. And my mom, well, she is still my mom, I still love her, but I just can't resist pouncing on her for things like these... Imagine, if I had to fill up some kinda medical form for some place, and it asks me about chicken pox, and I say yes, when 6 months old, and a week later I get pox... I would be screwed! Ok, bad analogy I guess, but you get the idea of how idiotic it would be to not know what disease one has, don't you?

Hope my mom gets it. Amman help her. Oh wait, that is me! :D

Pox or not...?

2006-04-27T19:15:00.000+05:30

Optical exam went good. However, I learnt only after finishing that it would be corrected by HOD. Thought it would be Ma'am... I wrote stories thinkin it'd be her! Well, what's done is done.

Came home. Mom had made the enquiries I had wanted her to. "It is what I feared..."
"Uh oh, chicken pox?"
She is silent. As if the world of finally socializing came crashing on my head, I walk into my room, and frantically message the news to friends. Jus hope I didn't infect anyone today. Apologies if I had, you know I didn't mean to! The I-told-you-sos and take-cares stream into my inbox.

Then realization hits me... late as usual.

"Mom didn't you say I already had chicken pox?"
"You had tiny tiny prickly heat like stuff, when you were 6 months old."
"So, what do I have now?"
"I told her your symptoms, she confirmed it."
"She who? And what do I have?"
"The doctor's wife."
"What... you didn't ask the doctor?"
"No, he is elsewhere."
"uh... so... why not ask him what this is?"
"I know what it is."
"So it is not chicken pox?"
"It is called Manal Vaari Amman."
"Translate pls..."
"I think it is called shingles in English."
"You think?"
"Anyway, same treatment..."
"I wanna know what I have."
"Jus take plenty of rest."
"Mom..."
"Keep drinking fluids. Tender coconut, fruit juices..."
"I have no problems with your treatment. I just want to know what I have... for the record."
"it is called shingles."
"You sure?"
"I know the tamil name for sure."
"o...k... So it is not pox."
"No."
"Thank you."

So to all the people i misinformed, here it is. Shingles (or so i think). Jus check with your moms what manal vaari amman means, and let me know.

But all said and whined about, I got something from my parents these last 10 days that I have never got in the last few years. I don't know what to call it. It started the night I came home from the resort. Dad knew, mom was informed by Balu only at home. Both sat with me, in silence. They didn't make anything worse. That was a moment of joy in itself. They just wanted to know what happened. I narrated. They knew it was nobody's fault, and they were on my side. That was invaluable. It was good to know they were very much the people I wanted them to be. They spoke a little philosophy, something I had been talking to myself about. Knowing they were ok with me, I could move on.

"Don't sleep alone tonight, ok? Come to the master bedroom and sleep on the extra cot." Thanks dad, you spoke my mind.

In the days to come, they didn't question what I did. I wanted to spend time with friends in college the very next day, and they said yes. Even their son didn't flinch. I was there until 7, while my proj viva work was goin on at home. They didn't ask. They knew better. When I came home smiling from college that night, Dad smiled. "So good to see you like this."

News of the inquiry came. They shared my views, again. They even hated the same people I did. They asked the same questions I asked my friends. We were one.

Inquiry was runnin parallely, while something else was running in me. Boils! One sunday, one more the next day, doubles on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, one popped up every hour. I'm majorly freaking out now. Here is my last chance to clear this paper, I have to be someplace next semester, and I get a disease (whose name I'm still not sure of!) Man it's gettin itchy. But I can't stop... gotta study, gotta pass. Oh dear, what is goin on with me? Enter mom. Doctor of divinity. It's a blessing, she says. Explain please, I'm missing out something...

See, she had just given a garland of flowers to the Melmaruvathur Amman on Sunday. The same day that I got my first boil. So, she goes to the roots of the disease and the word and says it isn't Ammai, it is Amman. O...k... Wait there is more.

When people get these boils (no matter what the disease is), it is equivalent to Amman entering the body. So we shouldn't chase it away with Western medicine. It has to be treated the way it has always been from generation to generation, coz this is a really holy disease. The patient (aka...the possessed) is anointed with turmeric and neem leaf pasts and made to lie on colors pleasing to Amman. I should touch the boils on myself only by stroking it with Neem leaves. For, I am appeasing Amman. The Amman within me. People can't call me bad names, or scold me, coz I'm Amman. I sleep on a maroon saree, neem leaves all around me.

I completely understand the science behind it. Yet, when I'm standing like a mannequin while my mother polka-dots me with green and yellow, simultaneously singing "Karpoora Naayagiye Kanagavalli..." I can't help giggling. I apologise to Amman, I know this is a bad disease, and I'm praying that I get cured with no complications. But I can't help giggling. Here's my chance to let my hair loose and do the Bhadragali dance...

But my poor mom. I guess this is straining her. She hardly gets enough sleep, now she has to attend to me too. I can't do anything by myself. She has to make those pastes, she has to apply them, she has to wake up before me, sleep after me, even now that my exams are over. She is the epitome of patience. And my dad... he was so afraid I'd get into some kinda trouble in coll for going to the exam with all these boils, that he waited for me in coll itself the entire 3 hours. Of course, it helped him get a refreshing walk throughout campus, some fresh coffee from canteen (somehow, he hated it!) I guess the trip did him more good. But the fact that he did it itself surprises me!

One thing I learnt... Wish I had a word for it... My parents are always there for me. They make their presence felt when I need it most. Otherwise, they think I'm bold enough to take care of it myself. Leave the overprotection aside... I'm talking deeper stuff. They know when I need them, and they rise without being asked.

My parents... You gotta love 'em!

Just another conversation

2006-04-09T23:58:00.000+05:30

Saturday night. The only time when the four of us get to sit around the dinner table and speak. No family senti or anything, jus that sometimes it is nice to see that the four chairs bought for the purpose of the table are actually put to use.

This time, the topic was my admission...
Dad: "When you get there, immediately get some kind of aid, ok?"
Mom: "So, you are really gonna go? What will I do without you?"
Me: "I will try my best. But aid in my field is quite limited."
Bro: "Then why the hell did you apply to that field? What is wrong with the course you are studying now? They give plenty of aid for that. Why couldn't you have just applied there?"
Me: "What is the point of doing that? I have anyway decided not to continue in that line. Why can't I study something that will help me in the kind of job I'm looking for?"
Bro: "What makes you think the point of you studying further is for the purpose of you earning? It is simply to satisfy you that we are sending you there. You wanted to study, so go study. Why do you think we are gonna look to you for support?" (FYI, bro, the "we" who are sending me to study does not include you. So butt out. Of course I didn't tell this openly, wish I had...)
Mom: "You can just take the job you have in hand, can't you?"
Dad: "Throw it into the dustbin. That is not at all a good job."
Me: "I'm not gonna listen to this anymore. I don't want to have this conversation. I'm leaving."
Dad: "Pah! There she goes again."
Me: "And I'm definitely not gonna sit around watching you nod your head for whatever nonsense your son throws at me. There has got to be a limit, dad."
Bro: "All you girls learn this well!"
Mom: "Why do you both always keep irritating? If it is not me, it is her. Don't you all have something better to do?"

I walk away from there, towards my room. I can hear the men of the house laughing away about something else. The topic had changed so fast. It didn't matter to them what I had just done. They didn't care what I felt. I am not an individual begging for an equal opportunity to show that I can excel. I am someone's daughter, hence an embodiment of their genetic codes, a manifestation of their dreams, a mannequin well decorated that can be shown off to the world. I am someone's sister, assumed to be living in his shadow. I am, after all, a woman to them.

So what am I to me?

Memoirs of a co-ord

2006-04-01T23:20:00.000+05:30

Given I won't write a decent post on my blog for sometime, here's a copy of my article for the department mag...

Seems like just yesterday that the grand blueprint was drawn up for our plans of 6 issues a year. It looked so feasible, the kind of timelines and deadlines we had drawn. 6 issues, hah! Piece of cake. Call it arrogance, call it overconfidence. By the time the first issue came up, we said Ok, fine, 4 then. (We could’ve said 5, but just wanted some “even”ness in the system). Then when the second issue came out, it was exam season. We knew for sure that you’d all be scrambling with textbooks, and the edition we’d been working on will end up as a doormat, a tissue, an ink-flow-checking-paper, a fan (I’ve heard about the power-cuts in the hostel), a chewing gum wrapper, and just about everything else we didn’t want it to be. In all, one issue in the first sem, one issue (so far) in the second sem. Totally not where we wanted to be, given our tall claims. When it hit, it hit us hard.

“Hey, speak to the juniors, get some articles from them” says Vivek the Editor. The frequency of that statement follows a Poisson distribution, peaking at about a week before publishing, then dying down knowing we need to start working on the layout. Dutifully I comply, messaging them, calling them, meeting them, asking them. “I’ve told them Akka, but they are busy with assessments (or) lab mini-project (or) assessments (or) industrial visit (or) assessments”, comes the prompt reply from each of them. 2nd and 3rd years alike.

We had a good team of technically sound final year students to help with the regular features. Ravi, the biker boy, for introducing Robotics as an option for specialization; Mars, the spiritual physicist, to make EMW seem easier than, say, making an omelette; Shanka, the all-knowing non-‘hunk’a, to span the extremes of VLSI; Mathu, divine earthling, bringing in the fun part…the contests; more of them reminding us that it is still techie-friendly with the ECE crowd. What we needed was that extra creative spark from the juniors to tell them, this is for you, by you.

And then there was Pri Mo,
With her never-ending word flow,
Flying around the Science block,
The only good poet in the flock.

Put your ear to the ground Red-Indian style, and if you hear the sound of high heels trotting on the ground, then you know that AR is on her way, rushing to the Pulse meeting, and even better, that the science article is ready in her hands. Besides them, a decnt lot of contributions from students of all years. But it takes someone to make it all look appealing, look readable, look good. SAK did it, working night and day on the Pulse layout. For the unacquainted, he is the 2005 GATE AIR 6, 2006 GATE AIR 4. So, you can be a genius and still do extra curricular work, no excuses.

So many ideas, so little time. At least we can graduate in consolation thinking we’ve left it to our juniors to break the record of bringing more than 3 articles a year. (As Prof VCR candidly, and somewhat acerbically, put it, “So, this newsletter is bi-monthly, not monthly. Hmmm… good!” Err… good???) There were suggestions of a debate, but it got controversial. There was an accusation of “copy-pasting”, but the editors had done their homework well. (This guy was such a coward! Used the title of a prominent Tamil actress to slander us with his vocabulary of expletives, and before we could retort, deleted his ID. Besides, this no-gooder wouldn’t write for us, but rather lash out at those who do). Memories of working for pulse, the great expectations, summoning and canceling meetings within minutes, running around for articles, making up titles, searching for tit-bits, adding it in my statement of purpose to vindicate my fluency in the language (the things we say for an assistantship!), it’ll all be something to look back and smile about, if not roll on the floor laughing.

In the end...

2006-03-20T21:05:00.001+05:30

I had planned a speech for the farewell. But it had to be cut short to one-and-half minutes. Good thing though, coz I'd never have stopped talking otherwise. Of course, VAC overshadowed my speech - his was all senti n advice n encouragement; mine was jus about fun! Got me thinking.

College... that illusion of everything being fun, everything being colorful, boys teasing girls, girls giggling away, friendship and love blossoming under every tree, rockets flying around in class, whistles here and there. Illusion indeed, coz it was not even half true (or mayb jus in CEG).

College was the exact opposite. If I had to be as good as I was in school, I had to put twice the effort in half the time, subjects changing every 4 months. I learnt it the hard way, and my efforts were too little, too late. In the first semester, I was a meagre 8.8, all my friends were 9 pointers. Parents were cool with it (as long as they didn't know others' grades). So the next sem I start taking life easy, hardly ever seen in coll, always out with someone or the other. Plummet to 7.5. The story goes on, me trying to cope up, then giving up, and encouraging myself, soon consoling myself, and I stand today at 7.4, one arrear in hand (results eeeeeagerly awaited!).

I can proudly say I've been through it all. I made friends with extremes. Take on one hand the pandu gang. Marun!!! Sleeps 9 to 4, studies every morning, studies in every free hour, for whom the library is a second home. Take on the other hand the fun gang. Gokul!!! Sleeps midnight to forenoon, studies before the exam, for whom the playground is a second home. I dunno how, but I made a whole lotta friends :) Kinda the exact opposite thing my mom wanted me to do, given how much my brother roamed the city with his friends from school and college, she was afraid I'd do the same and told me "Jus study well here and graduate. Don't make friends." Oops.

4 years of teasing people to no end. And the circle is starting to come around. For the second time. The first was with my senior in NCC, Ashwin. We are good friends, but that is unacceptable to anyone (Oh well, I'd have taken their trip too if the other way around!) So had to grin my way through it, with all usual denial. And now the circle is completing again. This time with SAK of all the harmless sadhus in my class. Well, he brought it upon himself, but I shouldn't complain. How often does one get to be ottified with a GATE topper, not to mention one of the most brilliant minds in the dept, and one of the most unassuming techies I've ever known.

The fun of bunking classes isn't quite fun if you are a day scholar. I mean, you are already there, why not just sleep through the hour anyway? You get attendance too! No point bunking for the sake of it, idling away in canteen. And if it is DIP class, I aint bunking at all!!! Guys swore at the notes I took down in each class, not to mention me asking doubts! Then of course, they swore by the same notes exam time :) Didn't make a difference to my results. I still ended up with a C. I wonder what it is I keep missing every semester...

4 years, countless treats. Started humbly at the canteen, each opting for either the famous CEG chola poori or the ice cream. Then started the combined treats, and the venue shifted to restaurants for lunches. Some small, some for the whole class. Mine was jus one so far. Of course, I better plan the next one soon, else I'm next on everybody's hit list.

(Speaking of hit list, I just put a savage end to the lives of 15 mosquitoes, typing out this blog. Didn't think I was ever capable of beating the speed of their escape, but maybe after drinking my indolent blood, they got that way too!)

Im gonna give in to that indolence right now, rest my eyes before the next day starts.

One life to live

2006-03-05T00:58:00.000+05:30

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartanlike as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to 'glorify God and enjoy him forever'."

- Henry David Thoreau (Walden)

Of orkut and me

2006-03-04T23:02:00.000+05:30

So, there's this thing on the internet. It's called Orkut. Everybody in class was on it. Everybody in college was on it. Everybody in school was on it. And I mean everybody, from geeks to goons. Everybody but me. Well, I had joined it long long ago, then never logged on, and eventually forgot my password. Then the craze was on in class and I thought, hey, they are gonna take all the teasing online, and I don't wanna miss it!

After wondering whether or not to be caught up in the "latest cool thing", I decided what the heck. Kaasa panamaa. Internet dhaane!! Freeya vandha phenol kudikkra kaalam!!

Interesting place, this Orkut. I know someone, someone knows someone else, hence I know someone else. It is amazing how the simple transitive property of arithmetic operations can be used for complex human relationships, hence defying all rational human behaviour that our moms so desperatly tried to imbibe in us - do not talk to strangers!!! Well, you can reason out saying people "add friends" before they get talking, but beware honey, it is a NETWORK!

Well, so far, the site is good. Best part, I was able to reach old friends from school. People whom I had lost touch with, then regretted for. Now I'm back talking to them. Then there are friends from college. People whom I see and speak to and have lunch with everyday, but who, when they are home, still spend 15 seconds of their time to type out a "Hi" to me, just to make me smile about how silly it is.

There is a community on anything and everything here. Led Zepp to Joplin, Mathematics to f off, Kimi to Calvin... (sweet baby blue eyed Kimi...wow...damn, don't drift off, back to the laudation) it's got it all. Sadly, even an 'India sucks' site. So I guess it's still about "technology can be used in any way..." And if nothing else, it has a birthday reminder. Isn't that reason enough to log in?

The most recent fad on Orkut, as far my class is concerned, is the testimonials. People shorten it's name as testi. "Did you see that testi...Hey, his testi was cool...I never thought I'd be writing this testi..." For once, shortforms suck. No pun intended. And trust me, I'm not the pervert here. It's a similar reason why you should call the eraser as an eraser and not rubber.

Coming to the testimonials, man!! The things people say about you... Ye, it's true, but it isn't the whole truth. Come on people, it's not like someone is gonna give you a marriage proposal by reading your testimonial. And it's not like people are gonna hang themselves coz you trashed them. So quit it with the "she's so great and he's so smart" and get real. Indulge in trivial teasing. Of course, if you are gonna write something that is totally offensive and kicking in the gut (given that this guy added you as a friend!) instead of saying it straight on his face, then you probably deserve such a write-up yourself.

Reading what I just wrote, I realised nobody in their right minds would ask for an embarassing testimonial. I still grin ear to ear whenever I read the nice stuff people wrote about me. And here I am whining about the saturating sweetness of the very same. Which leaves one question. Was this whole post a momentary lapse of sanity?

Was that really me ???

2006-03-03T23:53:00.000+05:30

I am not a vocab genius. Yet, here I was, on the 3rd of March, 2006, resting on my couch with my feet propped up on the nearest chair, pen in hand, staring at The Hindu MetroPlus crossword. Managed hardly 5 words.

With an "Oh, what's to lose" attitude, I pick up the the main paper, open it to the daily crossword page, fold neatly and professionally like it's all I'm interested in. True, after hopes of my MBA in India crashed out, I didn't give a damn about reading the newspaper (Call me dumb, call me selfish, call me an engineering student who just wants to prepare for the exam and forget about it, call me whatever, I just gave up after trying too hard... although not very proud it)

Where were we... ah yes, the crossword section. Armed with pen and paper, my eyes chanced upon an easy clue in the Down section. I fill it in. The next one is easy too. Hmmm, two easy clues in a row? Can't be. I move to the Across section. Well, easy. This is cool! Maybe the crossie guys at Hindu decided to give me a break after all :)

So, within 30 minutes, there I am, with just two more words to go. I sink, blink, think. Nah, the way the letters are, I'm sure I wouldn't know them. Wrap it up there!

Now, inside my head, I'm dancing, singing, screaming, pretty much rocking. Coz I checked with the blog of a noble gentleman who posts the solutions. All my words are right baby! Mailed my joy to Mathu... the Goddess who inspired me to take up crosswords as a hobby.

Well, I still stink at it, but at least once I got it right!

Misty Monday

2006-02-21T21:17:00.000+05:30

So much had happened in 2 weeks, good and bad. And I didn't write about them until just recently. Realised I was letting the "bad" get to me more than the "good". That kept me down for a long time. Last monday morning was a beautiful sight. Feb 6, to be precise. What made it more beautiful than the other winter days was the fog. Visibility was almost nil. Slowly the sun rose, and light started to pour in through the incredible blanket of mist. That was when I took a look around the building. Here are some from that day...
Tried sharing that moment with some on the phone, but the lazy bones of my class wouldn't wake up... Lazy indeed!

LiveWire fused out

2006-02-07T23:29:00.000+05:30

It started out as a good day. I didn't have that searing headache anymore, I didn't have any nightmares either. I woke up not too early, not too late. So didn't have to face dad's wrath (only mom's, coz i didnt tell her not to pack lunch for me).

Went to see my IMS tutor in the morning. He's started his own investment firm, so visited his office, a pretty room with a large bay-window, in an independent house all to himself. nice location. So met him, handed over my study material he had asked for one of his students, caught up on news of cat, xat, gmat, iims, mba schools abroad, prospects, and on and on. It was a good one hour before I saw the time !

Then headed to the Globus sale for some stuff, and wat dyu know... It's expensive in spite of the sale. Went to Marks&Spencer. Those ppl only have their design label, and it is twice as expensive as the first, despite the discount. Besides, they classified me as a kid... nothing to fit me.

Back home, quick lunch, and off to college for some serious informals work. Started at 3. There was a lot of general discussion before we could get into the crosswords. And the words just started flowing. I don't even know why those guys called me. They had names of anything and everything on their fingertips. Mythology, food, places, books, movies, you name it. All I had to do was play umpire just so they didn't waste time fighting !

It must have been 4 30 when the results were put up on the notice board. Of course, there was a lot of "running" commentary for about 15-20 minutes before that, from a classmate adept at running on heels! I had been anxious since last sem, and knew I hadn't done these exams as well as I should have. I didn't want to know my results, simply because I came here for a good 3-hour effort on my event. Add to that coming up with a caption for the t-shirt by late evening.

Silver called me to the hallway. He said he wanted to tell me about the result. I had to stop him right there, gave him my reason. He understood, and it helped me finish what I came for. At the same time, that he called me to speak in private told me my results might be what i feared. I tried pushing it away just until my work was over. Soon, I handed over the rough draft of the design to Silky, and was on my way to the notice board.

One arrear; optical fibre. Well, it's better than what I thought I'd get, but it is still a disaster. GPA 6.8, CGPA 7.4. Now how do I tell this at home ?

I shifted focus to others' results. Asif's was just above mine. He'd also lost ofc. So had many others. Some of my friends had lost many more, another had cupped in DIP! There was no dearth of surprise in cups. That was when I heard of the other batch's result fiasco. It was a personal vendetta, a blatant misuse of power. Unbelievable. The class topper had an arrear. For no fault of his. A guy with an impeccable academic record, an enviable reputation among the faculty, and brains I'd kill for. You tell me he doesn't understand the subject and I'll tell you the earth is flat.

Then some fat bitch from the next class came to check out her score, celebrated aloud that she had an S in ofc. I had no right to ruin her joy. I just smirked and ran downstairs. That is when I saw for the second time the look on everybody's face, and understood why they had been that way ever since I saw them at 4 30. I realized I wasn't alone to feel the way I felt. I knew I wasn't the only one depressed. They had jobs, admits, calls as well. They hadn't prepared themselves for this. They had as much anxiety as I did for the future, starting that instant. And the moment I saw Asif's face, my turmoil worsened. This was the first time I had seen him so worried, so dejected, walking around by himself, sometimes on the phone, sometimes staring away from the crowd. Here's a guy with 5 calls, his first gd/pi hardly a week away, having to face the trivialities of one woman's PMS. I had to be nuts to think he'd waltz through it with a smile.

The whole time, I realized I was doing the same thing. It was hard not to break down. I kept welling up, kept consoling myself. I walked away from people from time to time. kept talking to myself so i wouldn't start weeping.It worked. I called nerd. Lucky, he was home. Didn't tell him the news, just told him I needed to come over. It was 6 30 when I reached the parking.

Reached nerd's at 7. Spent an hour, with both of us trying to make sure I got the big picture - this isn't the end of the line. The future is uncertain. Which means something good can still happen. Just hang on to that hope, walk down the path you were meant to take. It's for a reason. When I left, I knew I would be OK, for a considerable while.

I haven't told my parents even FMS n IITkgp. The last in the line of rejects. Hesitation out of fear, fear out of guilt. I'll have to tell them soon. Perhaps tomorrow morning. I can hold back the sem results until there is some development in the talks with the authorities.

Question is... how long can I keep a stiff upper lip ?

seriously, dad....

2006-01-22T21:56:00.000+05:30

i was invited by three of my frnds to their houses, and we were gonna be a big gang of 20 or so, house-hopping on sunday. all i needed was permission. hmm... permission... that is the tough part.

wel, i asked, n my dad frowned. "where did u get this habit from, oor-suthifying n all?"

"dad, it is just to my frnd's house, i've been invited for lunch, and so have others. y cant i go, it's a sunday !"

"fine, watevr. u ppl dont study at all. do everything else. i should have put u in satyabama hostel. then we'll see wat u could have done."

well, i got the yes i needed to hear. so i just walked away from there before i screamed and he changed his mind.

i worked to get into this coll... n no matter how much my brother teases me, i dint get in by luck. ye, i've been rotting after i came here, mostly of my own doing, coz everybody else seems to b doing fine. i study alright, i just dont study like them. n i have no idea how to write an exam properly. mayb they mastered both these skills, n this has taken them a long way. me, i've had my tryst with arrears, n hopefully it wont aggravate this sem. (results awaited!) dad thought i was cool with where i am right now. n i thought he was understanding, cheering me on to the next hurdle. problem was, we were both wrong about each other.

but imprisoning me in the dungeons of satyabama, that's a death warrant. their style of disciplining is just to please the parents... aint gonna work with me. u wanna discipline me your way, i'll find another problem for u to fix.

he's got hang-ups. he stereotypes ppl by their outward action, appearance. he thinks i'll b a bad student if i go out to eat, go to movies, or jus anywhere with friends. wherever i need to go, "u jus tell me, i'll take u there". n recently my bro has picked up this line from dad, gives me the same crap when we are in an argument. which only makes me ask him to shut up (somethin i've never said all these years, n my dad wonders if im getting out of control... relax dad, im jus spkin my mind, something i should hav done many many yrs ago jus to clip off this chauvinism that runs in the family)

recently, it was saarang he banned me from attending. well, i've got used to it. 4 years. there is a good reason. it is freakin crowded. every loser in the city drags his ass there. leave alone the good crowd, my friends, and the cute-lookin ones. there is a whole bunch of jerks u'd wish u dint meet. i'd know, coz when i was in school, i knew some of the crowd that went there...drunk. and another thing abt the crowd. i think i border on wat u call agoraphobia, and im definitly not a crowd-lover. mayb that s y i dint persist (the real reason could b that my dad said "odhai vaanguve!!!" in such an intimidating way, i dint know wat to do except run out of his sight).

nowhere to go. now, where to go ?

Idiotic moron of an imbecile

2006-01-22T21:31:00.000+05:30

Grrrr..... !!!! That ... That ...

(Damn, i dont wanna get back to the bad vocab, but there are no other words to decribe him)

4 students suspended for allegedly watchin porn. that is wat the paper says. that is wat the vc has told them. that is not wat happened.

here's the story, i heard from a very reliable source.

a day-schi has an argument with parents, leaves home early, reaches coll. given adequate time for classes to start, dude goes straight to the hostel, chills out in a friend's room. his dad calls up hostel, guy argues more n slams down the phone. his dad calls up the associate warden, warden comes to the friend's room. he finds a stack of cds next to the comp, demands that they be opened for verification. now, there were a couple of porno cds among a whole lot of good cds, but as unfortunate as it can get, the first one they open is porno. the two guys are suspended. another guy is called to verify the content on the rest of the cds, n he tryin to b a good samaritan to his fellow mates, switches one of the cds with a blank one. warden finds this out. third guy suspended. warden walks down the hostel corridor, a guy is with a mobile phone. fourth guy suspended.

and still, the paper says 4 students suspended for watchin porn. (oh btw, all cds and the first guy's cpu confiscated - mayb the warden wants a piece of the meat too).

even if they had actually been caught red handed (err.... or watevr....), this would have been an issue of disgrace to the institution, not someth they'd ever want to mention. but nooooo... we have the most brilliant mind heading one of the nation's most prestigious technical universities. any decision he takes is welcomed with open arms and open legs. by parents, staff members, and let's not forget, his favourite community, the students, who in return promise to be incredibly good students and fulfill all his visions for the university, and who pray day and night that he is not gangraped. after all, he didnt become the vc that easily, he paid 50 lakh rupees for it.

so here we are. living happily ever after (read: jus 2 months in this firetrap) life is good. my sarcasm, even better.

n i had 2 hrs of HOD's class the day this news came out. poor man, what can he do but advise ? of course, he had a whole lot more sarcasm up his sleeve. i can't blame him. he doesn't make the rules, he has to enforce them, whether sensible or not.

p.s.: latest update from Nemesis... the flicks weren't even porn !!! one was a decent movie, the other had a few scenes here n there. not the all out bang-from-start-to-end that the press release made it look like. damn they wrote as if all the four were busy doing themselves when the warden walked in !

The latest addiction

2006-01-19T22:34:00.000+05:30

Hmmm, addictions... mine vary in phases, especially when it comes to songs. i'd listen to a song so compulsively until i jus couldnt feel the difference from hearing it the last time.

there are two such now... both from a recent tamil movie - kanda naal muthal. which two, it s obvious !

when i first heard to merke merke, i was listening to the tune, but i was more closely following the lyrics. the singers start off "the sun rises in the east... this season, that season", and i go... uh ???
then comes the captivating part "why did the lightning leave me yest ? is it just to unite again today ?"

from there on, it just gets better. two people who were constantly on each others nerves discover there are deeper emotions hidden, and the song is an expression of this unrequited love to each other. the longing to see each other at every instant; the rush of joy, the joy of touch, the touch of love.

the lyrics are quite commendable on another level as well... it has nothing to do with the beauty of the girl. it describes her expression when angry, when tranquil. it describes the complete surrender of their hearts to love. "there is no need for veils any more". it describes the new interpretation of all that around them "will the wind stretch itself like a wing, will the hands immerse in poetry?"

the song is shot on a beach. no skimpy bikinis, no wet saris, no shirtless arnold-wannabe.

the music, during all this, really lets the emotion sink into the mood. no fast beats, no racy guitar riffs. YSR's careful selection and pace of the strings tells that this a special moment for the duo on screen. thank god, the singers were right for the song. else it would have a jarring flow, akin to ghazini (the female lead in suttum vizhi sudare is a classical singer, u can tell it in her intonation, the way she drags the word... signature of a classical singer. also karthik's high pitch voice in oru maalai is a tad bit out of place.)

the beat is slow, not sleepy. the initial stringed chords are a good opener to wats abt to follow. the bass is there, at the same time not there (im not a genius, i have no idea how he did it !) the soulful arrangement is touching. the soft keyboard in the background is a good filler. overall, the song really makes me miss that chemistry !

song two...pani thuli.
now that the couple have found they are more than jus "friends", the relationship gets to other levels ! somehow, had the lyrics been madrasi tamil, no music could have captured the magical essence of that accidental brush between them in the hallway. the lyrics are straightforward otherwise. it openly articulates the raging hormones "lust and shyness are battling"

lost in thought, hit by a strange wave of feelings, searching for each other in the crowd, feeling like in a lonely planet despite being amongst others, having a conversation between hearts, and ending it with an all-revealing silence... i hope it makes the normally prudish "abhishtu-abhistu" cases realize that a breeze of lust running through one is not bad, it is merely human, and sometimes divine. (it's bad when the lust is stranded alone, without even a hint of love, affection, and respect)

the music... mindblowing. except for the occassional chanting of female chorus about the expectant girl. the other vocal chords sensuously set to the context is wow !!! you cant help but wonder at the creative brilliance of the composer in ensuring that the listener is mystified by the aura around the song. the singers again, great choice. KK's high pitch is breath-taking, as was Shankar Mahadevan's in the previous song. Apt. Not desperate.

well, that s my addiction for now. it wil probably last another month. im already hooked to stevie nicks' edge of seventeen. le's see when it takes over.

Pride & joy

2006-01-18T22:48:00.000+05:30

I dint think anything could be done about it. it was so rampant, even more than corruption in the administation. it knew no geographic frontiers. all it knew was division of the sexes. it couldn't be stopped, or so i thought. it.... sexual harassment.

boys... dont skip this. read it !

and then i read about a young woman travelling alone on a train, who was subjected to the same disgust. her name is hemangini gupta, n she dint shut up about it.

http://hemanginigupta.blogspot.com/2005/06/train-to-chennai.html

she dint do anyth innovative, she jus did the right thing. reported him to the law.

from that site, it was link after link, and i discovered so much... there really is a provision in the judicial system to arrest this behaviour, there is every subsection and article to ensure that a woman's rights are preserved. wat it takes is enforcement, execution.

i learnt about jasmeen patheja's blank noise project in bangalore...
http://blanknoiseproject.blogspot.com/
(some who read the newspaper frequently might recall her name, there was a huge article in the second page of sunday mag of hindu about her and this project)

it reinstates the fact that this issue cannot afford to be overlooked, despite its banality in today's world. i saw the donate your clothes section. wat women wore when they were teased. it is nice to prove that the self-styled moralists of the male-dominated world are amazingly wrong when they say that women are teased only due to their attire. the site clearly shows it "you did not ask for it".

it was this site that also linked to similar projects in the US...

http://streetharassmentproject.org/
http://www.hollabacknyc.com/

the things you read on the above sites are disturbing. the language used in the US is a dozen times more demeaning and disparaging.

all for one reason. the affected is a woman. it is not her skin, her face, her clothes, her religion, her location. you dont have to be miss world to be whistled at. you just need to have "certain physiological components".

every iota of eve teasing is a blaring statement saying you have no place on the road, you have to either stay where you cannot be touched or you have to submit to me. there is no acceptable behaviour. there are levels. and all of them have to be tackled. because each leads to the next.

we are weak physically, not emotionally. we are outnumbered, but we are the good guys. we cannot do black magic to castrate every molestor. we can take on this disgusting section of society one at a time. we can make a difference to our own self-confidence. we can walk with our head held high and still know we can tackle wat comes our way. because we know deep down within, it is gonna take more than a lecherous prick to take away our pride & joy.

but most importantly, we cant do it alone. we need to work together. and gentlemen, i mean you too.

why mom, why ?

2006-01-18T00:18:00.000+05:30

I have an assessment, first thing wednesday morning. Numerical methods. easy, yes, but i wanna ace this subj.

n wat happens when i get home ? mom asks me for help. she needs to research some 20 or more nursery rhymes to find appropriate ones for the primary class textbooks. now im thinking, hey, i can do this. she needs my help coz she cant use the comp. n how many times has she put me on top of her priorities ? cant i do this little thing for her ? i am her daughter, who else will ?

so, i give myself this senti speech n dutifully decide to comply with her request. wat she points to, i click. wat she wants, i copy. i started at 6 15 something... it went on, and on, and on, and on, and on. 24 rhymes. it was 9 45 when i printed them out.

i was supposed to have called pooj at 9, discussed math. called her at 10, finished jus before 11. dad was home during the entire conversation. n he knew bloody well it was math i was talkin abt the whole time.

so, 10 45 i walk thru the hall to the dining room to get my dinner. n im stopped by dad, given a 5 min lecture on not spendin time on phone, questioned on my mannerism of studying on the phone (hey, i was teaching, not studying !!!) and warned that my telephone connection would cease to exist if this happened again. im tryin not to raise an eyebrow, leave alone raise my voice.

n where was mom during all this ? in the same room, having dinner, watching the news. not a word from her. noth saying 'she was doing work for me' or 'she was busy with other things' or 'she is helping her friend' or anyth !

thanx mom, thanx a lot. thanx for pointing out that big tattoo on my forehead which reads : SUCKER

my fault. im not supposed to bring any senti into my thought. n when i do, im corrected by incidents like this. awesome.

Woo.....hooooo !!!!!

2006-01-15T19:43:00.000+05:30

After a whole semester of mind numbing depression, and a host of exams that took their toll on me one after another, today was worth living for.

FMS. Ranked on par with the IIMs. Awesome faculty. Even cooler placements. Nonpareil reputation. Just 63 seats in merit-based admission. 600 calls last year. If only i could make it to this year's call list...

Even if not, long live Delhi University for the easiest paper I have ever written. A morale booster (although somewhat dubious). Something to tell me, kidd, don't worry, there are papers you can still kick ass in.

Yeah, yeah, it's all relative. But i'll postpone my conscious awareness of that fact by a few weeks, when the calls do come. For now, I'm just basking in the joy of having done a real exam real good. I made a mockery of the mocks !

I feel like spider-man right now, when he learnt he could climb walls, and looked down at the ground.... Woo.....hooooo !!!!!

"I'm a live wire, gonna set this town on fire !!!"

Me, myself and irrationality

2006-01-14T22:48:00.000+05:30

that s me... lil kidd... i could be 28 n still have the moodswings of a 7 yr old. perennially furious, with spurts of light hearted mirth (most of those spurts are confined to the mind) . almost an adult, yet, with the confusions of a pre-teen.

confusions abt my identity, my religion, my choices, my stance, my skill, my ambition, my way. and this confusion has cost me my tranquility. in short, im one irrational act away from being branded a lunatic.

if wat's abt to be typed is dark, then the pages of my journal are darker.

in a desperate attempt to sort out this chaos of the psyche, i drove myself from a "why blog" to a "why not blog", a place for me and my indecipherable intellect.

my journal is for that which i don't dare to share... here, i'd dare alright, as long as my parents don't read it ! my mother worries that i dont conform to "norms and tradition", my father raises an eyebrow when he sees a book of world philosophers on my table.

"Cooler than a body on ice
Hotter than a rollin' dice
Wilder than a drunken fight
You're gonna burn tonight
I'm a live wire !!!"

quoting the gods of rock, AC/DC.