Shutting it tight

There is the point of indifference. I seem to keep reaching it only to feel the pinch again. There are times when tomorrow is already here. That feeling that it is inevitable that I have to go through my day. I crib a lot on twitter, but I am not sure if it is heart-felt any more. Probably a knee jerk reaction to everything that is happening, a vent.

I still haven’t got the hang of this friendship thing. At one moment a person is nice and smiling at you. The next moment they act like a stranger. It is confusing. And these aren’t random people you get to know on the web, these are ‘real people’. Going through random quotes on friendship isn’t going to help. There is no point really, it seems tiring to talk to people. I used to talk a lot. Now days, I have stopped talking to people all that much. A random conversation with a stranger on a train is fine but talking to ‘acquaintance’ isn’t worth it anymore.

I am afraid to talk about ‘me’. Talking about what I do is fine but I am not too sure if I can talk about myself to anyone. You think someone has become a friend and has risen beyond seeing you as weak when you talk about problems but it isn’t so. Even with people who you have known for most of your life. This probably is growing up- one needs to shut oneself in a tight shell.

It is remarkable how one has to learn not to be offended, as well. My standards for the world have almost reached 0 but not quite. Still, day by day my expectations keep falling(much like the stock markets now). Twitter helps me retain my sanity, still there are times I wonder what is the purpose of the whole site.

People may come, people may go but I go on forever.

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Matchbox of hope

The boy had a box of matchsticks in his hand. In front of him was a candle- A plain old cream-white candle. The only light in the room came from the LED street lights outside the window. The murmur of the rain and the occasional vehicle were the only sounds that made their way in. His eyes sparkled bright as he lit each matchstick and watched it die even as he tried to light the candle.

He would have been about 10 years old. His brows were in keen concentration and he smiled rarely. There was a bottle of water next to him, which seemed to never run out. There was perspiration on his forehead. His hair was unkempt and fell on his forehead. He had brown eyes and his nose was rather flat. He sat there legs crossed and kept striking the matches. His hands were slightly large for his age and the fingers showed signs of effort.

The artist stared at the boy and in his vision, painted. Hopeless though it seemed, he couldn’t help noticing that all that the boy wanted to do was light the candle. He never seemed to run out of matchsticks. He kept trying, again and again. He probably would grow old and the water would turn into whiskey. The calm face might lose its steadiness and become wrinkle ridden. His eyes may lose their charm to the light and he may start looking up occasionally at the window. He might go on till the day in desperation, he struck a match for one last time, tried to light the candle, watched it burn out and breath in the smoke for one last time.

But the boy had no clue what was outside. All he knew was that he had to light the candle. He did not know why. But he would have to keep trying, till he succeeded.

Matchbox of hope.

 

MEMORIES OF A ROLLING STONE by VINA MAZUMDAR(book review)

Memories of a rolling stone by Vina Mazumdar

Inspirational.

There are some books which attract you. For some reason, one gets pulled towards them and then there is no turning back. One knows that it is going to affect one is strange ways. Memories Of A Rolling Stone, did precisely that. It has been over a week since I completed the book and I am still mesmerized, influenced and inspired by the book.

This is the first autobiography that I have completed. The book not only gave me an insight into the women’s movement in India but also segments of our history. One of the toughest things to do is to accept that one is wrong- the author talks about the misconception which existed prior to the study conducted for the UN report(during the International Women’s decade) and how even after conclusive facts, politicians and governments were still resistant and apprehensive in accepting the study.

The author talks with humility and confidence which gave me the shudders. In times when exaggeration is the staple and limelight is what many seek, she maintains a poise and narrates her story with calm and unadulterated passion. There are many who dismiss the women’s movement as that of the elite the author highlights the fact that indeed it was so and that rural and poor women, women who did the actual work in the fields where still riddled in the old narrow-minded society.

The book opened a new perspective for me. This is the first time, I have had the opportunity to listen someone who was part of the system. Vina Mazumdar talks about her journey from her home is Kolkatta, through independence, through Oxford, as a teacher and then as a part of the women’s movement. We learn from her life experiences and come to realize that a certain amount of tact and willpower is needed to tackle the problems in our society and country.

While our politicians and TV anchors harp away to glory, there are many who do the actual work. They are the ones who are responsible for our development, freedom and day-to-day existence. The author, inspires and at the end of the day, all I can do is thank her for the book. Well narrated and detailed, the book is like the author a Rolling Stone- the pages keep turning. It would be delightful to have a teacher like her!

Rating:- 8/10

I exist

I would love to stand on top of the tallest hill in the world and shout my lungs out and roll on the grass at that tallest hill laughing away like a maniac. But since I cannot for myriad reasons(like for eg. me being really lazy person), I just decide to think about it and end up day dreaming, rather evening dreaming while doing the chest press at the gym.

It is rather significant fact that life is so much more enjoyable when you pretend it to be enjoyable. Over a period of time it does become enjoyable. In that way anything and everything is enjoyable, including walking in 40C and sweating all over. Life is in pretense than in the actuals, simple because there are times when one has no clue as to what is real.

It is easy to say gulping down a tetra pack of apple juice is your reality but it probably isn’t the reality of a prodigal daughter sitting in a bar and drinking away or that kid in the corner of the road trying to sell coloring books for some unknown mafia. But you learn to ignore both and still fall in love with that costly car and that dark street with a single street lamp and cool evening sea breeze.

Not that you are poor or something. You have reached material contentment and it should last a while- as long as people keep making annoying ads.

I stopped calling myself a writer. Not that I can’t find time, but I don’t see the point in writing. You can feel depressed and bothered and writing does ease it, but you don’t make anything out of it. You take a stance on a topic and you can argue but you don’t achieve anything. Thinking is one thing, doing is another. I am trying to figure out how to get things done.

I will start writing stories and the like again sooner rather than later but I continue writing poems every now and then- poetry is that verse that reminds you of your joyous self. Some say I read too many depressing books, but I enjoy them. There is a part of me that enjoys being grave. There is no use fighting my love for melancholy, I embrace it, enjoy it and continue. And while it my sound bad, it was necessary to reach this point- now I can enjoy those smaller things which I couldn’t before. I am happy because I don’t have a reason to feel sad. And even when I feel sad, I know I am happy about it.

I went to North India for the first time. There are as many Indians as stars in the universe. You can never put it in words nor in pictures. It is one long motion film, never ending and never ending. The contrasts are too much but Jai ho! and corruption followed me all the way to Wagh Border. Someone told me corruption isn’t in our DNA, but I tell you it is.

I refuse to write about things that bother me any more because I know they bother me and that if something has to be done about it, I need to do it. All that is important is that I remain happy forever. And that is possible only when sources I seek happiness from exist and are happy.

I still dream and I always will, it is just that I see things differently when I am awake, but my dreams always inspire me.

I exist because I think, but more importantly I exist.

Change

They say nothing is constant except change, but no one seems to have any change! I treasure change- no way would I part with 5, 10 or even 20 Rs. , I need to have enough of ’em! As it is, bargaining with the Auto drivers is madding, I am not going to fall for the no change excuse- no sir!

The summer is here, already. It drove in a Nano, whizzing past the Altos, Autos and well the thermometer got all hot for it apparently. Hopefully it knows that Nanoes are prone to catch fire- time we replace our veins and arteries with Havells?

Too many things happening, though everyone seems to be talking only about the World Cup. Time for hockey to get a jockey- the next best thing to naked you see?

Bad jokes apart, I am busy playing a game with the universe. And I think we have a NDA(Non-disclosure agreement), so can’t say much about it. Well expect:-

1) One can become calm without studying B.calm.

2)Catch 22.

That book was amazing! I did hear many people couldn’t get past the first page- blame you not- that is why it is really good! Catch 22, you see? My life is being defined by these ridiculous books and terrible books(the ones authors send me- one fellow even spammed me for giving a thumbs down!), which frankly I am enjoying.

But on the down side, reading a lot means, I cannot write. And anyway, my brain is dead, almost. Guess I haven’t done anything intellectually challenging for a long time now. It probably is going to take a lot of effort to get it back alive- maybe I should eat Aliva?

The heat is unbearable! And for the first time in my life- no proper summer holidays! I feel all grown up- need to keep reminding myself, that I am only 19.

No exams for 2 years! Doesn’t that sounds wonderful? Apparently not, for some. Not that the exams are challenging or anything. See, now I sound all snobbish, which I am not. I am just a normal person, who suddenly seems to like using ‘I’ a lot.

But of course no one thinks I am normal. I am so used to standing out in a crowd that, that has become my way of blending in. You know that lemon slice on your drink? Some love to give it a squeeze, others just look at it curiously, while the rest throw it out without another thought.

I am of course, not a lemon slice, I used to be, maybe, but not now. What is the point in trying to make friends anyway? I have enough of them(they can be counted with one hand) to keep me happy for now.

Anyway, take care, be nice and use nycil, nicyl or however you write it.

FATE, FRAUD AND A FRIDAY WEDDING by BHAVNA RAI(book review)

Fast, exciting and thrilling!

The book begins with a flurry of activities, skipping across various places both home and abroad confusing, but nevertheless exciting. We dwell into the lives of various people and we reach the climax at the wedding. The book gives us what it promises Fate, Fraud And A Friday Wedding.

One thing I liked about the book was the simplicity. The  demography chosen is what we are familiar with Higher middle class/Rich Indians. The author has avoided long descriptions and tells the story- and pretty well at that. The beginning was slightly nebulous and confusing, but this adds to the excitement and has you wondering. The chain of events take shape pretty well, albeit the chapter where everything merges, seems badly edited(not badly written the editors could have given better spacing and had demarcations when shifting from one person/scene to another).

The style is simple and the voice suits the characters. There are times when you can feel the tension and sympathies with the characters. The book flows without any inhibition and does not meander.

A thriller which is thrilling. A book which I would recommend, if you want something light and entertaining to read, probably when on the move.

Rating:- 6/10. There are places where I feel the editing could have been better. I read The White Tiger before this book and  this book was surely more engaging(as is this book).

P.S:- The author’s website.

This and that

Well the results are out and I have cleared Intermediate. Whines, champ-pains anyone? The sky did not turn a dark yellow, dirty medicine colour, neither did thunder roll over Parangi Malai(St.Thomas Mt.), but as I sat trying there refreshing the mobile page furiously, I did get my results with as much pomp and gusto as Humpty Dumpty had during the great fall.

Of course, no one knows why eggs sit on walls, or why companies have firewalls. And what is with firewalls anyway? The term is very misleading in the Indian context. Didn’t Sita do the agnipariksha to prove that Ravana didn’t touch her(if only 298 existed then-I googled that btw.). Doesn’t that mean, we have to break through and prove ourselves? Mythology my friend shouldn’t only be in spirits or Bunsen burners, it should come in LPG cylinders, with cycle brand agarbati.

Anyway, I hope I don’t need to write any exams for another 2 years. Hope because I may end up being forced to join some other stupid course 😐

My friend’s play ‘A Play About Death’ is happening in March. If you are in Chennai, keep track of their FB page to know more. Or well, I will write about it soon enough 🙂

A very short post, yes, but well see you soon.

The story of a tap

I am a tiny tap with a big dam behind it.  I would like to believe that my very presence is a symbol of history having been altered. I see myself as a monument, which stands there to remind anyone who would look  that sometimes even the greatest force in this world has a very small outlet. Some might say, I am being narcissistic, but I’m just a tap, which dare not shed a tear, because what follows after that might be cataclysmic.

I have no clue why I exist. Dams are not meant to have a tap in their walls. Taps are always prone to leak- any second now, I might let a drop out. I have many reasons to cry. As a tap, you want to be turned on. The joy of feeling water rushing through you is so immense that it has to be felt. Yet, I may never feel it. This is a cruel joke-whoever put me here, had a reason way beyond my perception. I think about it at times- I end up thinking that it was done as a joke.

In front of me is a dry river. Behind me, I know there is a lot of water- I can feel the pressure. I want to let it all go. They don’t keep quiet, they keep whispering. They have been through this before. Being held behind a damning wall and waiting to be either sucked up or down by the sun or ground or to be let loose.

I stand at the center of this great wall. The dam has never been opened till date- so I have no clue what will happen when the doors are opened.

Sometimes I feel depressed. But  then there is nothing I can do to show it- I just wait here, a poor tap, being baked in the sun or washed by the occasional rain, waiting to be opened. My days and nights are the same, I stare upon the sand and it stares at me. The sands speak to me sometimes- apparently someone is picking them up and taking them far away.

There is nothing much to do here, so I do what I am supposed to do- wait to be opened. One thing I have learnt though these humans are crazy. They stop the water from flowing, they remove the sands from where they belong and they make things like me and torture us. Why do I even serve them? At times, I wish to let go. But something within, stops me. How ever hard I try- I just cannot do it.

I know not, why you are listening to me. I can see you are a human being. I can be rude to you and you can do nothing about it. If you lose your control and do something to me- you will perish along with me, for what I hold is stronger than you think. But I will not be rude to you or to anyone else, for I am a simple tap.

I have no ego, because there is no other tap around me. I have nothing to compare myself to- I stand here, without any purpose of my own. I do what I do, without knowing why. I have tried to think about it- but then there is only so much a tap can think about.

My only hope is that someday, someone opens me. I want to feel this great energy I possess, flow through me. I want to see it pounce on  the dry grounds and wet the sands and let dreams grow. I maybe destroyed by it, but that no way will be worse than what I am at the moment. At least, I would be of better use that way, than I am now and I would have felt the energy.

Sometimes Witty, Sometimes Vetti

Life is moving so fast that I can walk faster than a car. A car stuck in a traffic jam in T Nagar. But every speeding human, has a ticket to somewhere and mine it seems is to Kerala. Finally a place where my name will be home! The chutzpah of it all. This will be the first time in my life, I will be away from home for 10 days. I am terribly excited and fired up to count the assets before I see them.

Fortunately this time, it is a job which is less tiring. I shall admire the sea,the  nari(wolf? or naari=women?) and the scenery and of course curse the coconut trees that block my view every now and then. That is gross stereotyping of course, but well, I am typing this right now.

I have in a way run out ideas for blog posts. Once upon a time, that would have been a whole post by itself, but that was once upon a time. This week has been pretty busy. Went to one of those big corporates with lots and lots of cubicles and people who kept saying “I don’t have access”. Well at least they all can excel. Word. Power to point out a bad font.

I want to write more stories. So planning to post a story a week. The first two were inspired by Chennai. Do read them, if you haven’t already. And if you have, hope you liked them.

Now that my vetti-time is over and I have run of anything witty. Tata!

MY NAME IS RED by ORHAN PAMUK(book review)

Image from here.

A book is a journey. We feel, we touch and We learn, we admire and at the end of it we are wiser. And this book is a journey worth enduring.

Click here to continue reading.