Bits Of Fluff

She

2012-01-16T23:53:00.000+08:00

She is a journalist

During protests and movements

During elections and Emergencies

During poverty and abuse

During war and violence

During arrests and investigations

She is the truth.

She is a writer

Of realistic characters in realistic worlds

Of partying students and dreamy intellectuals

Of stories of friendship and ambition

Of murder mysteries and action-packed thrillers

Stories to get lost in

She captures you.

She is a musician

Uncontrollable, irresistible

Intense, all-consuming

Overwhelming melodies.

Real feelings, true stories

You will always remember

The first time you heard her play.

She works in the government

She listens, she cares

She researches and studies

She takes a stand, the right one

She investigates and prosecutes

She implements policy and programmes

She is change.

The Suit

2012-01-16T23:34:00.003+08:00

I found a formal jacket yesterday

After looking in every shop I know

Smart, black, two buttons

And it fit perfectly.

They stitch custom suits too

So I got measured for a skirt

And a matching jacket

In sharp, icy grey.

I’ll have the suit on Saturday

I have the enthusiasm now

I’m ready to start a career

All I need is a job.

Creating Stories

2011-12-22T17:21:00.000+08:00

Sometimes when I’m on a long flight, I like to give people background stories that I think fit their behaviour or appearance. Sometimes, I like observing people and listening to their conversations, though I usually don’t like having conversations. Today, on a 17-hour journey, I created a daydream version of me.

She sat a few seats down from me while waiting to board the flight. She wore jeans, a plain t-shirt, a jacket and sport shoes – exactly what I usually wear while travelling. Her hair was long and tied back into a ponytail – messy, like mine. She wore glasses and no make-up. She was typing furiously into her laptop. In my version of her life, she’s a writer – not a journalist, a fiction or blog writer. She writes subtly funny articles and realistic stories based on her interpretations of events and people. She smiled while typing – something one of her characters just did amused her.

She carried only a backpack. It looked new – her last backpack was too worn out from all her travelling to be used anymore. A water bottle was stuck in the bottle-carrier net on the side of her backpack. She never buys a backpack that doesn’t have those carriers, because keeping a bottle inside the backpack is too inconvenient.

During the flight, she sat at the emergency exit row, in the window seat, the same seat that I had on the other side of the plane. Clearly, she visits SeatGuru to research the best possible seat, and has travelled enough to know to check in online to make sure she gets the best seat. She spent most of the flight watching something on her laptop that she found funny. The first thing she did when we reached our transit airport was to buy a can of Coke, and then look for a plug-point to charge her laptop – a woman after my own heart.

She talked to the guy sitting in the aisle seat in her row. She talked about travelling – she’s an American student, travelling Asia on the money she earned working several student jobs. She worked in Singapore for a while, but her workplace wanted longer commitment and she didn’t want to stay longer than a year. She’s moving on now – perhaps to Melbourne, where I’m headed, or the mysterious sounding Changchun, flashing on the board of the gate we’re waiting at in the transit airport. The conversation wasn’t long – she’s friendly, but prefers to spend travel time reading her book or watching her movie.

We eye each other at the transit airport, both stuck here for a few hours, both recognising the other from the first flight. I see a kindred spirit, someone who, in my head, is similar to the romantic picture of myself I sometimes conjure while daydreaming. Maybe she notices similarities too, in my behaviour and habits. Maybe she’s giving me a story in her head, in which I feature as a student travelling on a tight budget – I’m flying from Singapore to Australia through China – clearly a cheap ticket convinced me to add 10 hours to my travel time. Or maybe she sees me as a confused girl, unfamiliar with airports, running around and constantly turning to walk in the opposite direction because I can’t choose between Starbucks and Coffee Bean.

Or then again, maybe she’s just pegged me as the inevitable creepy person of the flight, staring at her constantly and typing furiously away into her laptop, blushing when caught.

Too Much

2011-09-16T19:20:00.000+08:00

There’s just

Too much to learn

Too much to study

Too much to read

Too much to know

Too much to think

Too much to see

Too much to do

Too much to write

Too much to feel

Too much to accomplish

Too much to change

Too much to fix

Such little time

So much frustration

I’ll never finish it all

Because it’ll never end

The hour I just spent watching TV

Was such a waste of time.

Clarity

2011-09-16T00:11:00.001+08:00

Clarity

The thing I want the most now

The thing that seems the hardest to find

The paths leading to it have been built

I need not find the road less travelled

I just want to find the highway

Confusion doesn’t suit me

In courses, jobs, decisions, friends

It makes me stupid and frustrated

I want to make informed decisions

Randomness or baseless analysis doesn’t suit me

But I don’t have the information I need.

There don’t seem to be any street lights

Highways never do have any, I’ve noticed

I have to find the highway without a map

I’ll stumble around, take a few wrong turns

I will eventually find clarity, I know

I’d just rather it be now, than five, ten years from now.

Disjointed Thoughts About Rajasthan

2011-07-23T14:12:00.001+08:00

I spent three weeks in different villages in Rajasthan, and have wanted to write about that time for the three weeks that I’ve been back. However, a combination of laziness and other work led to this post being composed only now. Another reason why I’ve been hesitant to write about my observations, and why I now have five Word documents named “Rajasthan” on my laptop, each only a paragraph or two long, is that it’s fiendishly difficult to compose anything resembling a coherent article about the villages. The best I’ve been able to come up with a list, sort of, of unrelated thoughts and observations.

Rajasthan is definitely one of the hottest places I’ve been to. Or maybe it just seemed that way to me because I was actually outdoors all day in the scorching June heat, going from house to house in the villages, whereas the same time in Delhi would have been spend indoors in a comfortably air-conditioned room. But whether or not Rajasthan was hotter than Delhi during that time, the heat was enough to leave us panting and gratefully gulping down matkas of waters at every house we visited. And, as I’ve become fond of telling friends, though we drank water all day long, neither I nor my friends felt the need to pee at all during the day. I would pee just twice – once in the morning after waking up, and once at night before falling asleep when the ridiculous consumption of water would finally catch up with my bladder instead of being sweated out in litres and litres.
Since I’m on the subject of peeing– us “going to the bathroom” was a constant source of amusement and much discussion in the villages. Lacking running water or built-in bathrooms, all villages evolve their own fairly efficient systems for doing their business. And we city-kids just didn’t cut it. Our behaviour regarding toilet functions were weird and laughable – “sham ko khet jaa raha hai!” (“he’s going to the field in the evening!”) was always said with awe every time one of us needed to use the fields at anytime other than 5am in the morning. And it amused them that we had no idea where to pee during the day (if we ever needed to), since though the shit-locations were well-defined, pee-locations were not. We tried hiding the fact that we were going to pee, but our newly developed concept of “ninja pees” never seemed to work very well – everyone in the village was always aware of our exact whereabouts, and any deviation from the plan would incite numerous questions.
Each trip to the “bathroom” was a source of great stories for us city-kids too. A quick pee under the comforting cover of darkness in a clearing outside our host’s house led to a funny story about out hostess graciously switching on the outside light to enable us to see our way, but succeeding only in putting us in the bright spotlight for everyone in the house to see. And in every village, there was always at least one creepy black dog which would stand at a distance and freak me out by just staring at us while we peed, behaving as if he were just waiting for a signal of some kind before attacking.
Village life was, of course, very very different from city life, but there were constantly some pockets of familiarity which would always take me by surprise. For example, after hours of talking to villagers about the ration shops and their entitlements, NREGA, the corruption of the Sachiv, and bias of the Sarpanch, we spent an hour at a widow’s house who had invited us for dinner. We ate the roti with the Rajasthani pyaaz ki subzi, and while we talked to her sister-in-law and her, I was constantly aware of a feeling of surprise at how normal the conversation was. We oohed and aahed over the two toddlers in the house and encouraged the proud mother to tell us tales of their naughtiness. The sister-in-law joked and complained about her husband (not present during the dinner), and poked fun at him when he arrived later. I’d overheard the same small talk and dinner conversation countless times between my parents and their dinner guests, but only this time, my friend and I were the “adults”, participating in the conversation to the best of our ability, instead of just listening in curiously to see what it is that grown-ups talk about.
I also came across the weirdest squirrels I’ve ever seen. They were normal grey-and-white squirrels, scampering and chasing each other around in the trees, but as soon as they got onto the ground, they would lie flat on their bellies. Completely flat. I’ve never before seen a squirrel actually lie down – they always crouch, poised for flight, every movement sudden and quick. These squirrels appeared defeated by the heat, and would lie flat, all four tiny legs splayed out on their sides. When I saw the first such squirrel, I actually thought it was dead, and was rudely shocked when it promptly scurried away at my approach. I didn’t manage to click a good enough picture, since they would always scurry away as I got within photo-taking distance, but this one that I pulled off a Google search is pretty much what I’m trying to describe.

More disjointed thoughts later.

Venice, the Metro Station

2011-07-10T01:34:00.001+08:00

Barely two days of travelling on non-airconditioned, Rajasthan Roadways buses reminded me of how privileged I really am. The only other time I’ve travelled in sleeper class in a train was five years ago, when I went for a summer camp. And that, too, was not by choice – sleeper class was what the camp had booked for us.

Now, I’ve spent three weeks living and travelling among villages in Rajasthan. I’ve travelled in sleeper class, both with and without confirmed bookings, taken four different government provided Rajasthan Roadways buses to get from one village to another, hitched rides on everything from an overstuffed auto to overloaded tractors. And though I wasn’t so okay with the situation at the time, I do appreciate the experience and understanding afforded to me by the travels.

Sitting in an unusually undercrowded bus, enjoying the luxury of personal space (having just finished a seven hour journey in a sweltering bus carrying at least twice the number of people as there were seats), I was oddly reminded of a guy I met in metro station in Washington DC. I’d been using my debit card to buy a ticket at the machine when a guy of around my age, carrying a guitar and a bag, approached me. “I’m trying to get to Venice, ma’am”, he started, which immediately confused me. It took me a minute to realise that he was talking about a stop on the metro line, not the city in Italy. “Could you buy me a ticket?” he asked simply.

I didn’t immediately understand his request – I still hadn’t figured out that Venice was a metro station. When my mind cleared, I pointed out that the fare was more than $6, more than double of what I was paying for my own ticket. He responded by saying that that was the fare for the peak hour, but he just wanted me to buy him a reduce fare ticket. “Let me worry about getting out of the station at Venice,” he said.

By now, I was even more confused. I’d used the metro system in DC just once, I didn’t understand that I could buy him a reduced fare ticket for $2, and he could wait at the Venice station for the “reduced fare hour” before exiting.

I refused to buy him the ticket. That one decision has bothered me several times since that day, mainly because the reason I refused was that the whole situation was very awkward for me. I didn’t immediately understand him, and it took me a while to see what he meant when he asked for the reduced fare ticket. Rather than prolong an already awkward meeting, I politely asked him to ask someone else. He thanked me before turning back to his original position, observing the other metro riders.

It was a stupid decision, not just because I turned down a civil request from a guy to whom the request was clearly costing a lot of pride, but because the reasoning behind the denial was so utterly stupid. Out of all the times I’ve refused a request for money, out of all the times I’ve shaken my head at beggar children knocking on my car window, all the times I’ve waved away the one-legged man or the young girl clutching an infant on the road, this one incident is one of the few denials I vividly remember and regret.

All I can say is, I hope the man and his guitar made it safely to Venice.

My Music Teacher

2011-04-25T11:01:00.003+08:00

When I was around nine, I had a music teacher. He would come to my house to teach me Indian classical music... singing and playing the harmonium. He did the same at many other houses in my campus. He was also the music teacher at our local primary school. He was regarded as the best music teacher in our area. The other students and I lived in a university campus, but he came from the village half an hour away from our campus, and so, was always regarded as an "outsider".

He was a good teacher in many ways. He used to boast that he could play all the musical instruments except the violin. He was well-trained and knowledgeable, and managed to impress even my dad, who has always been hard to impress.

But despite his musical prowess, what I remember when I think back to my years of learning music with him were the whispers that followed him. Murmurs that he was perhaps a little too fond of his young female students. Whispers that he had roving hands that didn't always just touch to teach a particular skill on the harmonium. And also mutterings that he had a temper that would flare up if a student did something wrong or said something out of place - a temper that could get out of hand.

No one knew where the murmurs began, and I'm not sure they ever reached my parents. The closest I came to hearing a first-hand account of his roving hands was from a friend who'd heard it from her friend who talked about too much "accidental" brushing of her breasts. No one ever called it molestation or even sexual harassment. But all the children knew about it and talked about it. We were all around the age of nine, we were just realising that his touching a student's breasts was wrong, though we weren't really sure why.

I don't know whether anyone told their parents about the whispers; I know that I didn't. There was always the hesitation of saying anything "bad" about a much-respected and very elderly music teacher. I remember thinking that even if I did tell my parents, they might not even believe me. After all, the first question would be "Who did you hear this from? Who said that he touched their breasts?" and I, of course, would have no answer. They were just rumours, unconfirmed and unverified, passing from one student to another. And the reports of his uncontrollable temper which had (as rumour said) led him to physically hit a student made all his students afraid of ever saying anything against him.

We didn't make a big deal of it then. I was mildly concerned when my parents hired him to teach me music, but I confidently stated that if he "tried" anything with me, I would go to my parents. And maybe I would have. But throughout the time he was my teacher, he never did anything overt that I could complain about. But I was always uncomfortable when he touched me in any way. I didn't see why he needed to touch my hand while teaching me, and while there was never anything blatant, there was always the sense of inappropriateness whenever he came physically close. But I did see first-hand that he definitely had a temper - it would flare up when I did something wrong, or dared to disagree with him. He never hit me, but I was always scared of his acid tongue and raised voice.

But to think back over it, maybe my parents had heard the rumours too. I remember being told (again and again) to never go anywhere alone with him. Either my mom or my dad would always remain in the room while I had my lessons with him, and if by chance neither of them were around, the live-in maid had instructions never to leave me alone with him. But still, week after week, for several years, he was allowed to come to my house to teach me music.

All the children knew about the reports, but no one ever said anything. If the parents (mine or others') knew about the rumours, they didn't do anything either. He was always hired and got good reviews from parents, he remained a respected member of the "outsiders" group in our campus, and as far as I know, was never told off by anyone for anything he did. And while I can't be sure that the rumours were true, no one really doubted them at the time. Yet, no one raised a voice, no one said anything. People moved away, the music teacher retired, and the rumours were forgotten.

But I Don't WANT To!

2011-02-27T07:35:00.002+08:00

The first time marriage became a topic possibly relevant to me was when I went to college. No one had ever talked about it in terms of me before: not my parents, not my friends in school, not my cousins or sister. We'd discussed the "ideal boyfriend", what we want to be "when we grow up", colleges, dreams, travel plans, how to change the world etc, but never the “ideal husband” or marriage.

Within the first couple of months of college, however, during one of those late-night talks when everyone's just trying to get to know each other and make new friends, someone asked "So, what age do you want to get married at?"

That was the first time I'd even thought about the idea of me being married. I was only 18, I'd just begun college in a new country, I was as confused as ever about what I wanted to do with my life. Marriage, frankly, had never even occurred to me as a possible part of my Plans for the Future. I was genuinely surprised at the question. "You mean to say you guys have an age that you want to be married by? You've actually thought about this before?"

That's the first time I really understood that there are families which have expectations from their children regarding marriage. My best friend at the time, a boy, had a long-term girlfriend that his parents knew about. He knew he was going to be married around the age of 25, because his girlfriend would be 24 at that time and already past the "ideal marriage age" for girls in her family. Another close friend, a girl, said that there was no way she'd be allowed to be unmarried past the age of 24, and that's if she managed to push it to 24.

This was all new to me. My parents had never even mentioned their "plans" for my marriage to me. They still haven't, and I'm fairly sure they don't have any such plans anyway. I couldn't imagine a situation in which my various uncles and aunts and grandparents could pressure me into getting married at any age. Why would it be any of their business? And why would disapproval from them lead to me making the life-altering, very serious decision about getting married?

Since then, I've talked more to my friends, and while I still can’t understand the pressure and the expectations that they face because I’ve never faced that, I’ve accepted that there are such pressures. My advice to just “screw it and do what you want” may not work in all situations and for all people. I may not be able to empathise, but I can at least sympathise.

I’ve also had more time to think about marriage. And it still doesn’t feature on my Plans for the Future. For many reasons, I don’t understand marriage as a concept, and until I am convinced that there’s a real reason why I should get married, I don’t plan on getting married. What really bugs me, however, is the dismissal that I encounter if I voice this opinion. “Oh, you’re still young. You’ll change your mind in five years.” I have heard that countless times. Especially so if I add that I don’t like kids, and don’t want to have any of my own. The indulgent smiles from many adults really annoy me. Yes, I’m 20, but that mean that my opinions will necessarily change magically when I hit 25? Why are all women expected to want to get married? Why am I expected to want kids just because I’m a woman?

Do guys face the same indulgent smiles and general disbelief? I don’t know, but I’m inclined to believe not. A guy saying that he doesn’t want to get married or have kids will probably be more believed than a woman saying that (I may be wrong here). The expectations that a large part of society has from its members are extremely gendered. I may want to change my mind later on in life, but the desire to not get married just to spite those who were so convinced that I would change my mind is very strong.

I feel a little stupid even writing about this, because I do feel too young to be even thinking about marriage. Not because I’m too young to understand it and have an opinion about it, but because I feel too young to be thinking about it affecting my life because it’s never been discussed as part of my life in my family, and won’t be a part of my life for a long, long time, if ever. But I have friend who might be married two years from now, solely because the society she lives in has set this schedule that her life must follow, and marriage is part of it. Her not wanting to be married at 24 is abnormal, stupid and against everything they believe in, and hence, the childish desire must be ignored and squashed. And my opinion that marriage as an institution doesn’t make sense should die a similar death.

About Helplessness and Frustration

2011-02-23T13:08:00.000+08:00

I'm living in the "international dorm" in my university in Florida. Half of us in this dorm are international exchange students. The group of friends that I've made consists of people from all around the world. The diversity of the group often leads to discussions and comparisions of life back home, from food and shopping, to governments and laws.

Last week, when we were looking to rent a car for the weekend, the talk turned to driving. We discussed the differences in driving laws - I mentioned that all my driving test consisted of was one U-turn, my Peruvian friend said that in Peru, you can get out of traffic tickets by bribing the cop, I agreed with her. From which point, the talk turned to the police and law implementation.

All this tied in with some articles I've been reading recently. Tehelka carried an article about the botching up of the Aarushi Talwar case by the CBI, Annie Zaidi published links to articles about further incompetence, brutality and corruption of cops (here and here), Dilip D'Souza poignantly displayed the utter stupidity and blatant incompetence of police offers in a court case. And I remember walking with a friend and talking about how I've never been asked for ID in any bar in Delhi, and how easy it is to find drugs or bribe a cop to get out of a traffic ticket in Delhi. And I remember telling her that we read and hear a lot about the corruption of cops, or their incompetence, but we never really hear about the good cops. Surely there must be some.

But these succession of articles are so frustrating, so shocking, they leave me feeling so overwhelmingly helpless that I start doubting that belief. If there are some good cops, where are they? Why do I hear only about events and behaviours that should be hard to believe, but sadly are so familiar that they're not even particularly surprising? Why is it that I'm beginning to doubt my comment that there are good cops in India, they're just never talked about?

What went wrong? Why are there so many bad cops? Corruption is one thing - at least there's some gain to be seen, which provides an explanation for why. But what do police officers gain from imprisoning and harassing 23 men without even telling them the reason for their arrest? How can that possibly not sound blatantly wrong? What reason could a public servant, an officer of the law in a democratic country, have for doing that?

I believe that I've been lucky. I've never been stopped by a cop, nor ever needed a cop for a crime that happened to me. But I'm still so scared - what if someday I need the police? What if I need them to solve a crime, and they display their incompetence? What if someday I'm at the receiving end of their incomprehensible bullshit treatment of citizens? It's frustrating and depressing enough about to hear of such things happening to strangers. How would I handle it if it was me, or someone I cared about? Is there even a way of seeking redressal? Is there a way out of a situation where the police refuse to protect evidence or do a thorough investigation into a murder? Is there a way to do something, anything when trumped up or incomprehensibly random "evidence" is used in a trial to convict a citizen?

Three Naked Teenagers

2011-02-09T09:38:00.000+08:00

I'm trying to get into the habit of reading news online everyday. And it's not going too badly... I usually do visit CNN, NDTV and The Hindu every couple of days. Today, I came across this on NDTV's website. The title "Boy Drives Into Canal With Two Naked Girls" was interesting, so I clicked.

The story is about three teenagers in Melbourne who were "having a bit of a party" and decided to go skinny dipping. Interestingly enough, all three of the teenagers (including the boy) were naked, despite what the title of the story and the first few sentences ("Australian policemen were startled on learning that a car carrying a teenage boy along with two naked girls plunged into canal..") would lead one to believe.

Now, why would the nakedness of the two girls be clearly mentioned in the title and the first sentence, while the nakedness of the boy be revealed only towards the end, in a direct quote from a police officer?

On another topic: suggestions for new (and better) websites to follow Indian news are welcome. The NDTV website doesn't appear to be doing a very good job at objective reporting.

An Excellent Night Out

2011-01-20T17:03:00.002+08:00

Head spinning,

Loud music,

Gyrating bodies,

Packed room.

Lit cigarettes,

Cups of alcohol,

Make-up and perfume,

Low cut clothes.

Hugs and kisses,

Sexy grinding,

Unintelligible introductions,

Longing glances.

Inane laughter,

Long walk home,

Embarrassing conversations,

An excellent night out.

Charm

2011-01-20T02:03:00.001+08:00

I underestimated charm. Before I went to Singapore for college, I totally underestimated the power of charm. I hadn't really met a whole lot of "charming" people - I'd grown up in a small, closed community, and no one ever needed or wanted to charm someone else. I remember the first "charming" guy that my friends and I met when we were about 16. He was so different from the rest of us. He would effortlessly flirt, cast his beaming smile everywhere, flick his hair about. The word universally applied to him was charming. And I remember that we regarded the fact that he was charming as slightly scandalous.

Then, in Singapore, I met more charming people. Flirtatious, smooth talking guys; bubbly, smiling girls. They got along with everyone. When I ran into one of them at the library, the conversation would encompass everything from current classes to upcoming parties, possible internships and future plans. I formed a stereotype of a "charming" person in my head: flirtatious, smooth-talking, but mostly importantly, fake. The interest they show in our conversations, in what I said, it all seemed so fake.

Then I met another type of charming. A genuine, occasionally rude, always funny, easy to talk to, interesting guy who is now one of my best friends. He didn't carry on conversations he wasn't interested in, but he got along with everyone, could talk to anyone, and was always fun to be around. The stereotype in my head was contradicted and abandoned. There's more than just one type of charming, I decided.

But still, I underestimated the power and importance of that charm. Until I came to Florida for one semester abroad. And last night, while having dinner with a massive group of people, the power of charm hit me. I'm not very good at social situations with people I don't know, so I was sticking to my table with a couple of friends, and just observing the other students there. And charming people are just so good at socialising! Witty comments, funny jokes and a slow smile will get you really far with people! The girl sitting across the table from me has been in Florida as long as I have, but she's friends with at least double the number of people I know here. A guy with a nice smile and very funny jokes was constantly surrounded by people, all laughing and talking. A group of people next to me randomly planned a post-dinner party and invited people, all of whom said yes.

In general, I prefer to hang out with a small group of friends. But the point of this semester abroad was to meet more people, learn to make new friends and party. None of which are made easier by my social awkwardness, physical clumsiness and lack of ideas for good conversation or funny jokes. Once in a while, it would nice to be able to be charming, even if I choose not to exercise that ability all the time.

I spent the dinner forming this blog post out in my head. By the end of two hours, I was exhausted. My cheeks hurt with all the smiling, I was tired of talking and hugging and asking people what they were studying, and I was ready to go home, get under my blanket and type this blog post out. I left, but the charming people stayed and probably went on to their impromptu party.

Wanderlust

2010-11-16T18:23:00.000+08:00

Stuck in the library,

A week before the exams,

Watching the rain come roaring down,

Books lie forgotten.

Something about today is making me dreamy. The rain, pictures of places around the world on my Tumblr dashboard, the travel section of the latest issue of the school magazine: they’re all making me not want to be here right now.

One of the things that I want to do most in the world is travel. I’ve always loved travelling, but it’s only recently that I’ve begun to understand the sheer massiveness of the world! There is so much to see, and probably not enough time to see it all.

There is no place that I don’t want to go to. I want to sit in a cafe on a cobbled street in Paris; take brilliants photographs in Barcelona; gape at the Grand Canyon; row down a road in Venice; marvel at the blueness of the sea at a beach in Greece; get lost in the crowds of Mexico City; ski down the Alps; stroll down La Rambla in Barcelona; feel the heat of the deserts of Morocco; spot all the gnomes in Wroclaw, Poland; and so much more! And I don’t want to go to just the popular places: I want to see the Navagio Shipwreck in Zante, Greece; the cliffs of Étretat in northern France; the beaches of Anguilla; the Plitvice Lakes in Croatia; the Minorca Island in Spain; the World Heritage Site of Sana’a in Yemen.

I want to spend more than just a few days in a lot of places: I want to spend a couple of months, I want to get to know some cities! I want to know about the not-so-popular nightlight spots, the seedy bars that make the best Bloody Mary in town, the unknown restaurant that will change what I think I know about pasta.

And I want to know India. I want to take four-six months just to travel around India; go to small villages and big cities, see all the great historic monuments I’ve only heard about, see the monuments that I haven’t yet heard about. I want to know and understand India in a way you only can if you’ve seen the problems that her people face.

There is too much to see, too much to do. Everyone says that it’s impossible to get the chance to do everything you want to do, to travel as much as you want to. But I have to make it possible.

The Grand Sophy

2010-10-21T18:15:00.000+08:00

The Women's Web has a writing contest: the Favourite Fictional Female contest. What do you have to do? Just pick a female character from a novel that you would like/admire/appreciate, write about her in less than 500 words, and submit your entry to the Women's Web. Visit their website for more information. My entry for this contest is below:

I’ve always had immense respect for people who can fly in the face of convention and societal expectations to do what they want to and what they think is right. Sophy, from the book the Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer, is a character who does exactly that. The book is a romance set during the period of English Regency. Women in this time did not have much freedom. Society was governed by strict rules of behaviour: sports such as driving and shooting were considered extremely unsuitable for women; single women could not entertain men without a chaperone; it was unheard-of for a woman to remain unmarried past the age of 21; flirting was one of the cardinal sins for a woman.

In such a society, Sophy is a breath of fresh air. She was brought up by her eccentric diplomat father who taught her to look out for herself instead of depending on a man for protection. Sophy learned to become an excellent shot and to “drive to an inch”, sometimes making her the talk of the town.

The independence and strength of mind that I love in Sophy is obvious throughout the book. When she’s left in London with her aunt while her father travels to Brazil, she proceeds to take the entire family in hand to solve their problems. She formulates a plan that is as scandalous as it is innovative to make one of her cousins recognise that the man she loves for who he really is; she goes to a villainous moneylender herself to stop him from harassing another cousin, something that no woman is ever supposed to do; she stops yet another cousin from foisting his unwelcome and unpleasant fiancée onto his family, and puts an end to his unquestioned but well-intentioned authority over his siblings.

I love Sophy’s practical way of looking at a situation and never giving up. According to her, the people who say that there’s nothing to be done are those who are “too lazy or too timorous to make a push to be helpful”. And Sophy was definitely neither: she came up with successful plans to put an end to any problem that she saw.

Sophy has a very witty sense of humour, which kept me in splits throughout the book. Her hot temper rises up only in situations where I can’t help but agree with her, but never drowns out her innate sense of fairness. She does not let her love for a person blind her to the person’s faults, nor does she ever blind herself to her own faults. She doesn’t hide her opinions from men the way she’s supposed to, and is not afraid to tell her equally strong-willed cousin (and future husband) when she disagrees with his actions.

It’s because of Sophy that I never go anywhere without my copy of The Grand Sophy. Not only would I love to have written her, but in many ways, I’d love to be like her.

CWG Experiences

2010-10-08T03:38:00.002+08:00

I've been to a couple of CWG events during the past few days, mainly to see what the organisers have managed to pull off and to be a small part of a big event happening in my city. Leaving aside the matter of how they prepared for the games, I wanted to see whether what they tried to do actually worked.

On Tuesday, I went to see Badminton at the Siri Fort Sports Complex; that went pretty smoothly. Even though there were no signs at the main entrance telling spectators to use the side entrance, we did manage to find our way to the gate we were supposed to use, buy tickets, and reach our seats. The area was clean, there were more than enough volunteers to guide us along the somewhat convoluted path to the stadium, and the stadium itself looked great. The entire experience was a lot of fun. Badminton is a sport that I have played and like, so I could at least dimly appreciate the skill of the players. The entire event seemed fairly well organised.

The next day, however, my mom and I tried to go watch Athletics at the new Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. I say "tried" because even though we bought tickets, we didn't actually manage to go into the stadium. The "servers were down" when we got to JLN Stadium to buy tickets, but thankfully, we only had to wait five minutes before the servers were up and the queue was moving. So, standing at Gate 14, we finally managed to buy two tickets that allowed us entry at Gate 6.

How far could it be, we reasoned, and resolutely walked the way indicated by the police officers. And walked and walked and walked. At one point, we actually left the stadium behind us and took a road leading away from the stadium because the road around the stadium was blocked. So we were supposed to walk up the other road, take two lefts, and walk all the way back to the stadium.

We walked for nearly 45 minutes before we reached an intersection point with CWG volunteers. Who then informed us that Gate 6 was at least another kilometre from where we stood, and the only way to get there was to walk. I was tired, my mother was exhausted, and we were furious. After somewhat dramatically tearing up the tickets and throwing them away, we found an auto and came back home.

Today, we went to watch the India versus Australia hockey match. Someone we knew had two extra tickets, so I don't know whether the servers at the ticket office at the Dhyanchand Stadium were down or not, but we got to the stadium easily (we took an auto rather than try the shuttle service from Metro stations). Both the matches were fun to watch, even though the Indian team got trounced by the Australians, and the audience was huge, enthusiastic and very loud.

The problem emerged when we wanted to leave. After the match was over, the entire audience trooped out of the stadium only to find no shuttle buses to take us to the nearest Metro stations. We ended up walking nearly a kilometre, I think, to Pragati Maidan, where we stood in a very long line to get through security check, to finally take a train back home.

What I've found is that the CWG Organising Committee seems to have done a good job with the actual building of the stadiums and other venues, late as the completion might be. The operations of the games, however, need some serious help. Efficient selling of tickets should not be as a big a hurdle as it seems to be! And it makes absolutely no sense to expect spectators to walk so much to watch anything, let alone matches where India may not even be playing!

Three Years, Countless Calories

2010-10-01T20:17:00.007+08:00

Instant noodles, strong coffee,

Bread-and-cheese, flat Coke,

Midnight ice-cream tubs, soupy Maggi,

Readymade pasta sauce, packets of chips.

MTR Indian food, microwaved sweet corn,

Icy water, expired milk, old cereal,

Thai food, frozen cheesecake on sale,

Bars of chocolate, M&M packets.

Spicy potatoes with too much haldi,

Chola from cans, frozen parathas,

Baked-beans-on-bread, scrambled eggs,

A lot more Maggi.

Coke with JD, orange juice with vodka,

Salt and lime, tequila shots,

Frozen margharitas with stolen tequila,
Coke with Old Monk, surreptitious cigarettes.

What college tastes like.

How Does That Happen?

2010-09-30T13:13:00.007+08:00

From all the time to once a week,
From meetings to emails,
From calls to texts,
How does that happen?

From so close to secretive,
From acceptance to accusations,
From forgiveness to bitterness,
How does that happen?

From understand to confusion,
From laughter to silence,
From sureness to jealousy,
How does that happen?

From love to indifference,
From caring to convenience,
From best friends to acquaintances,
How does that happen?

Further CWG Embarassment

2010-09-25T00:26:00.001+08:00

I have not been following the news about the Commonwealth Games in Delhi much. I know that there are problems, to say the least, and I read a couple of articles about corruption allegations. And since I was in Delhi during July and August, I saw the ongoing construction and the supposedly "ready" sites.

However, my knowledge about what went wrong with the CWG is very basic and unresearched. It is obvious, however, that there are problems. Clear, serious problems. During August, I would drive past a board that flashed a digital countdown to the CWG, and I would scoff. Because even though I wasn't reading the newspapers and reports regularly, I knew that the situation in Delhi was definitely not what it should have been a 60 days before the games.

The whole CWG affair is becoming more and more embarassing. CNN has reports of Delhi not being even close to ready. Countries are delaying the departures of their athletes, and some athletes have even backed out of the games completely! And to top it all off, there are now reports of child labour.

There are so many things in just one report to be sad and embarassed about. The first thing is that it doesn't even surprise me: I've seen small children on construction sites in Delhi all the time, of course they'd be used for CWG construction. And the fact that the pictures that go along with this report are scenes that I have seen multiple times before is sad.

Sheila Dixit's response is another embarassment:

"If this gentleman... had come to us, told us that this is what was happening there, we would have taken immediate action," Dixit said.The minister also went on to say that "she had wished" somebody would have come and told her of the allegations.

She needs to be told about this? A person who lives in Delhi and travels on its roads does not need to be told of the existence of child labour in construction, let alone the matter of the chief minister of the state wanting to "be told". Who's going to take this comment seriously? The student who reported the child labour did, it turns out, try to contact the ministry of labour, but we can all guess how that turned out.

There is a week left for the CWG to begin. There are reports now that say that Delhi is working hard to finish the preparations, and that all this last minute work might actually pay off. Hopefully, the actual carrying out of the Games won't be as great an embarassment as the preparation for the Games were.

What Boredom Does to Me

2010-08-30T21:31:00.000+08:00

Boredom

it is such a pain

Especially when my brain

Is acting like a drain

And letting nothing sane

Stay inside my brain

If only I had a cane

To spank those who are my bane

Or a very tall crane

from which I could see Spain

Or a bottle of champagne

And no need to abstain

Or people who are vain

that I can hit with my cane

But alas I have no cane

Nor a crane or champagne

So I am constrained to remain

in this state of boredom.

I could continue in this vein

And write something even more inane

Or instead, you could entertain

A friend bored out of her brain.

The Agonising Wait

2010-08-27T13:53:00.003+08:00

We met last week,
I was so nervous,
I was trusting you
With the centre of my life.

You promised to call,
You promised to be ready,
Today was to be the day,
What a fail.

When I call you, I get no news,
Only bland, apathetic assurances,
Getting angry solves nothing,
How do you make me feel so helpless?

Life without you is empty,
Incomplete, boring, difficult,
Please understand my feelings,
Don't keep me waiting.

O Sony, return to me my Vaio,
It's been ten days, I can't give you more time.
Don't lose my data, don't mess up my hard drive,
And please, please don't take two weeks.

Too Much TV

2010-07-07T01:25:00.001+08:00

The last few weeks at my mami’s place have made me marvel at my cousins’ seemingly endless capacity to watch TV. My mami has two daughters, aged 6 and 13, and a live-in babysitter. All three of them are permanently planted in the front of the television all day long during these vacations.

The daytime is spent with my two cousins fighting over what to watch: the 6-year old wants to watch Dora the Explorer or Mr. Bean or some other show on Pogo or Disney, while her elder sister is equally determined to watch the rerun of Dill Mill Gaye (though she watched the same episode the previous night).

Late afternoon, my six-year old cousin calls a friend over so that both of them can watch CID together. She has now taken to declaring that she’s a CID officer and goes through all my stuff when I’m not at home, looking “for drugs”, as she sweetly informs me when I reach home. I have now taken to carrying anything that I don’t want her to find with me to work, because telling her not to search my stuff has no effect whatsoever. Apparently, a good CID officer is immune to complaints from their suspects about any invasion of privacy.

The TV is off for about an hour at 6 in the evening, when both the cousins go downstairs to play and the babysitter goes for her daily walk. And then it starts again. I didn’t catch the name of the show that’s on currently, but the grandmother with the pistol aimed at her grandson is now chasing said grandson through a park as he escapes from her clutches (he effected the escape by telling her that there was a cockroach on her hair, which obviously made her screech, stop her car and start a search for the cockroach, at which time the kid leaped out of the car and took off). The heel of one shoe has now gotten stuck in keenchad (wet mud) in the park. One hopes that the kid is now safe, but I’m sure there will a new twist soon.

The night starts with Rang Badalti Odhni. Which is followed by Geet – Hui Sabse Parayi, and then Dill Mill Gaye. There are the “reality” shows such as Indian Idol and Desi Girl and one more involving child magicians, I think. And once the kids sleep (at around 11), there’s another show that I didn’t quite catch the name of that keeps the babysitter up for another half an hour.

The TV, unfortunately, is in the guest room, which is currently occupied by me. So the children and the babysitter are glued to my bed all day long. After one weekend of trying to follow the dramatic sound sequences and the repeated scenes and the convoluted story lines of Dill Mill Gaye and Geet, I gave up and have set up house on the sofa in the hall. My bedtime is dictated solely by what show is on that night (and so, by what time my room will be emptied).

In those two days that I spent trying to unravel the mystery of why the story-less drama unfolding on the television set interested anyone, the babysitter saw fit to explain to me the basic story of each show. I was wrong. The shows are definitely not story-less. After all, Geet was abandoned by her fake husband who happens to be her new boss’s (and love interest’s) brother, which is a storyline that’ll progress no further for a couple of weeks. Armaan did love Ridhima before Siddharth came along. If it wasn’t for the disease that forced Ridhima to jump into bed naked with Siddharth, and so, obviously marry him later, Armaan and Ridhima would still be a happy couple.*

But all jokes aside, the storylines of the shows aren’t even the point. It’s the unnecessary and extremely blatant and forced drama of the shows that gets to me. Star One has even picked up this annoying technique of showing the last scene of the episode three times with advertisements between each occurrence! And yet, my cousins keep the TV on. There were 20 minutes and two advertisement breaks between the time the host of Desi Girl announced that he was going to declare the winner and the time he actually declared the winner. And yet, no one changed the channel.

I am quite baffled.

*I may be wrong about the storylines. The dead-but-not-dead characters and the time jumps kept me quite confused.

Snippets of Conversations

2010-07-07T00:54:00.001+08:00

Bits of conversations between my cousin and her parents (I have paraphrased a bit, but I think the meaning behind the statements remains intact). The cousin is either 13 or 14 years old.

1) Mami: “Those cousins of mine stayed at bed-and-breakfasts all over Switzerland, and they really liked it”.

Cousin: “Chee! How could they?” (As far as I am aware, my cousin has never actually stayed at a B&B)

2) Cousin: “That bakery was so good, but it was in an all-Muslim area, hai na mumma? All those people in the shop, with the big beards, they all looked like Osama Bin Laden. I was quite scared”

3) “In those photos, nani was wearing Western clothes and looking just like a foreigner! Who gave her those clothes? She never wears them, she’s a grandmother.”

4) “Yuck. I feel like vomiting every time I see that man’s face.”

5) “Oh, those people? They’re damn fat no?”

And then there are the conversations between my mama and mami about how Maharashtrian men are damn lazy. The generalisation doesn’t seem to bother them at all.

I don’t protest, or say anything at all when such conversations take place. Both my mama and mami are very sweet and helpful; they took me in for the entire month when I needed a place to stay in Mumbai and generally, I like it here. But conversations like the ones I’ve mentioned above happen often and are commonplace. I believe they would be very surprised to think that someone might object to the statements they make.

Rain

2010-06-26T16:51:00.001+08:00

I used to love rain. It transformed the world into green, wet wonderfulness and got me a couple of days off school. It made all kinds of crazy games possible by flooding the garden. It allowed me the great joys of jumping hard into puddles, making awesome splashes and swooshing sounds with my bicycle, and following earthworms as they wriggled around the driveway.

Then I came to Bombay, started this internship, and started using public transport. Which requires walking. And then the rains started. And suddenly, I'm not so fond of the rain anymore! From being the amazing phenomena that meant green leaves and awesome rain-smells, now it means perennially wet feet and wet clothes. Umbrellas do not manage to keep me (or my bag) fully dry, so I'm always stuck with damp clothes, hoping that my bag is waterproof enough to keep my laptop safe. And with wet feet.

Then there are the umbrellas themselves. Practical, helpful inventions, I know, but so messy. There's always the problem of where to keep a wet umbrella after walking in the rain. There's the problem of actually holding the umbrella while walking in the rain and simultaneously trying to cling on to two bags and a cell phone (I realised later than texting is really not meant to be done in the rain, so the cell phone went into the bag: one less thing to hold). And then there's the fact that people on the road can't seem to comprehend the obvious reality that holding an umbrella will require more space than not holding one. So that 2-inch space between me and the wall that you're trying to squeeze through? The only result is going to be the pointy ends of your umbrella stuck in my hair, water from your wet umbrella dripping onto my already damp clothes, and you right where you started.

And then there are the wet feet.

There are still some cool things about monsoons. Primarily the awesome swishing noise that my umbrella makes when I press a button and it zooms open. And the feeling of efficiency I get by opening and shutting my umbrella in 2 seconds flat, as I go from covered space to non-covered space while walking. But writing this sitting in a crowded train, watching the rain outside, and knowing that I’m going to be out in that rain again in 10 minutes, I'm having a hard time thinking of more things I like about the rain.

Seen on the Train

2010-06-22T18:30:00.001+08:00

I saw four of these posters in the ladies' compartment in a local train in Mumbai four days ago. For those befuddled by my photography skills (combined with an average-at-best cell phone camera), the poster says:

"Never forget 25th June 1975. The day the Emergency was declared. Scrap all repressive laws. Defend the right to dissent."

I don't really know what to think about the poster. It's interesting, definitely, also because there was no mention of the name of the organisation (or person) who put the posters up. I was concious of a feeling of surprise though: the only politically inclined posters I've seen before have been advertisements of some election candidate or political party. I've never seen posters with a message beyond "Vote for me".

Opinions of Strangers

2010-06-17T18:20:00.001+08:00

People have been proffering their unasked-for opinions and advice a lot lately. I’ve started noticing this recently: complete strangers are very willing to tell me their opinion on something, or to give me to advice on matters that have nothing to do with them, without the least amount of encouragement from me.

A woman trying on a kurta at the trial room next to mine in Westside asked me how I think she looks, gave me a minute to give the polite answer, and then immediately told me that the kurta I was trying on made me look “a bit pale”. The security woman at the entrance of my workplace started her morning by telling me that I’m very tall and also fat. Clearly, I enjoy food more than I should. A tailor taking my friend’s measurements for a dress told her that her breasts were too small, and gave her “tips” on how to make them appear larger. Two taxi drivers were more than merely expansive on their respective opinions about women working (more on that later), and the importance of God in a young woman’s life.

People assume that random strangers are interested in their opinions and are open to their advice. But we’re usually not. I am not interested in the security guard’s opinion on my weight. I am not interested in knowing what the woman standing next to me in the queue for the bathroom at Pizza Hut thinks about the abominable state of bathrooms in Jaipur. And I definitely do not want to be told by a man that the fact that I work is against Indian culture, against the will of God, and probably against the wishes of my parents too.

Yeh Hai India, Meri Jaan

2010-06-02T18:53:00.001+08:00

A friend asked me recently whether I want to live in India again, after studying and living abroad for a while. She’s lived in India only for a couple of years two years ago. She said that she’d believed that she could do it, that she wanted to do it, but when she came to India after two years this year, she realised that she really can’t. She said she just can’t deal with the chaos, the lack of respect for personal space, the problems you can face in just accomplishing a simple task such as getting a new phone number, the disregard for simple common sense or manners while driving, etc.

But for me, the shininess of Singapore gets old fast. Yes, there are tall buildings, and smooth roads, and air conditioning in every single building, and shiny new malls on every corner. There are rules that are followed; there is order in everything that’s done. There’s no need to think twice about being out any hour at night; there’s amazingly fun nightlife. I like the city, I enjoy studying there. But I can’t imagine living there permanently. And it’s not just because the entire country is just one city, or because I’d have to get a permit to protest against anything, or because the rules (even the silly ones) are followed because of the scarily excessive consequences.

I miss India when I’m in Singapore. Not just my friends and family, but the place. I miss the loud, muddled, dusty markets; the familiar looking people on the roads; the insane honking and driving; the casual chatting with shopkeepers; the delicious food. I miss my Rs. 10 golgappe, and paying Rs. 30 for an entire meal. I miss the way people manage to create order in complete chaos, and how sometimes chaos is just chaos.

Of course, the honking and the traffic fascination lasts for a week, then it becomes a constant cause for complaint. The loud, muddled, dusty markets don’t remain so lovable when I have to go out there in the Delhi heat. But somehow, there’s always more to like than to dislike. And I can’t imagine not living in India, and not calling it home.

What do you think?

I Wish I Could..

2010-04-08T04:39:00.005+08:00

Write like I want to

Make you cry through my songs

Take those photos

Sketch a cartoon

Appreciate “good” books

Work harder

Find what I love.

Keep in touch with old friends

Talk easily

Recognise toxic relationships

Make you see, understand

Make you care

Let go of what hurts

Forget.

Think clearly

Know what I want

Get what I want

Not be lazy

Unveil my path

Save the world

And so much more.

Me

2010-03-05T17:15:00.001+08:00

The soft, not just the shine

The meaning, not just the smile

The choice, not the clothes

The expressions, not the face

The beliefs, not just the debate

The dreams, not just the fight

The words, not the voice

The feelings, not just the storm

The feel, not the look

The mind, not the body

The inner, not the outer

The melody and the lyrics, not the plastic casing

See me.

The Good And The Bad

2010-01-07T15:33:00.004+08:00

I had a Political Science class yesterday. We started discussing how the same concepts impact different countries differently. The talk came round to India. Since I was one of the two Indians in the class, the prof chose me to talk about (among other things) the reasons behind Indira Gandhi's assassination.

I didn't know too much about the topic, so I stuck to what I'd studied in Political Science in class 11 and 12. The book had stated that she was killed by her two Sikh bodyguards because of Operation Bluestar and the damage done to the Golden Temple, so that's what I said in class yesterday. When the prof asked me to elaborate on Operation Bluestar, I started talking about the separatist movement and amassing of weapons in the temple. But the prof interrupted me, saying "Yes, please do go on. Let's see how you're going to tell us about the torture and killing of the Sikhs. Let's see how you're going to put that".*

I didn't know what to say. I had no intention of trying to twist the facts to make them sound favourable to Indira Gandhi's actions. I didn't even know the facts well enough to even attempt to twist them, even if I had wanted to. My stammered explanation that I had no intention of trying to manipulate the issue in any direction was laughed away, and the prof moved on to talk about Rajiv Gandhi.

I was still lost. I didn't know much about Operation Bluestar or Indira Gandhi's assassination, but with two sentences, the professor had made me doubt my Political Science book. I don't think that this while incident was written in a blatantly pro-government, or pro-Indira Gandhi way in my textbook, but was it tilted towards supporting Indira Gandhi's Operation? Did my textbook gloss over the "torture and killings of the Sikhs"? Have I learned about the political history of my country from a very biased point of view?

I remember reading about how history is always written from the point of view of the victors once in an article somewhere. I've always been aware that the history of the same place, same incident, written by two different people or two different governments, will probably be very different. I've always known that the Pakistani textbooks talk about the Partition in a different way than the Indian textbooks. But this impersonal knowledge had never struck home. I'd never made the connection that the things I studied in school, what I was taught, might be biased and inaccurate. What in the history of my country has been deliberately left out of the school textbooks and what deliberately written wrong? How much of the true happenings do I really know?

*In that class, the prof also talked about Gandhiji. She talked about nonviolence and the freedome struggle, then mentioned his difficult relations with his family. She talked about Nehru and his years as Prime Minister, then mentioned his affair with Lord Mountbatten's daughter (wasn't it his wife, not his daughter, that Nehru was involved with?). Again, I was slightly surprised. We're all so used to hearing only about the good in Gandhiji and Nehru; when have we ever heard about the bad?

Baby Steps

2009-12-29T15:50:00.003+08:00

Concerns and desires

Dreams and ideas

Frustration and anger

Demand a better world

Where conversations don’t stutter and halt

Where friends don’t need to think twice

Where loved ones don’t move away

Where relationships don’t fray due to pride

Where friends don't lose touch
Where out of sight doesn't mean out of mind
Where love doesn't wear thin
Where people don't get left behind

Where plane tickets don’t cost so much

Where just once in four months is not the way

Where seeing someone after a year

Is just the same as after a day

Where a woman can drive late at night

And not be questioned or threatened

Where her character isn’t judged so easily

Where expectations don’t suffocate dreams

Where fat is just a word

Where straight doesn’t win over curly

Where Pepé is the same as Calvin Klein

Where pink doesn’t mean girly

Where short dresses and formal shirts come in my size
Where three neat shots don't make me puke
Where cigarettes don't kill
Where parents don't disapprove

Where my mind is clear and sure

Not so jumbled and confused

Where clarity and confidence

Replace cruel doubt and insecurity

Where libraries are huge and near

Where bookshops serve free coffee

Where there’s always time for reading a book

Where writing well is easy

Where Patrick Dempsey lives across the street

Where Grey’s Anatomy just doesn’t end

Where laziness is not so tempting

Where chocolate isn’t unhealthy

Baby steps towards a better world

Long Holiday Post

2009-12-18T02:52:00.010+08:00

I'm home for a month for my winter break. I hadn’t expect this month to be a lot of fun. Most of my friends are either not coming home for the winter, or still too busy with exams and travel plans to meet me very often. I expected to get bored within a couple of weeks. But thankfully, that hasn't happened yet. In the summer, when I had three months of nothing to do, I ended up feeling too lazy to do anything remotely productive. But this month has actually been different (so far). I still haven't done anything too "productive", but I'm not bored.

First, there was the Kailash Kher concert in Pragati Maidan last week. I found out about it just one day before it was to be held, and my mom and I decided to go, even though we've seen Kailash Kher perform live once before. And the concert was amazing! Not only did Kailasa perform my favourites, Jana Jogi De Naal, Saiyyan and Dilruba, but the band also performed Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's Tere Bin Nahin Lagda (with a lovely violin piece added in the middle), and Tu Jaane Na from the movie Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani, which I had only heard on the radio before and did not know was by Kailash Kher. I don't think I've ever seen anyone with more stage presence. He was completely at home on the stage, jumping up and down, running from one band-mate to the other, even skipping occasionally!

Then there was the family picnic. I've never understood my some people regard a picnic as something to be laughed at, or an activity restricted to children. I went with my parents, sister and grandfather, and it was a very enjoyable afternoon. We went to Lodi Gardens, found a nice spot that had just enough sun and shade, and settled down for nearly three hours. My sister and I bought big orange and green balloons, and my father stole my balloon and started playing catch with my sister. We bought two more after the first balloon burst and I spent a very relaxed afternoon watching my usually serious father completely relaxed and laughing as he tried to sabotage my sister and me in a balloon-yo-yo competition.

Then there's the shopping. We've been to GK and Sarojini Nagar and the new, fancy DLF Place in Vasant Kunj, and I bought, amongst other things, a pair of black boots with heels higher than I've ever worn before and a Tantra t-shirt that has a picture of three people dancing with the line "Support wild life. Throw a party." under it, both of which make me very happy. And I found a t-shirt that says "I'd rather play records than break them", which I'd always wanted since I saw it on the Threadless website.

And then there was the discussion about Dilip D'Souza's new book, Roadrunner, at Crossword bookstore. I'd never been to a book discussion before, so the whole process really excited me. I hadn't really intended to buy the book before I went to Crossword, but the whole conversation about the book, and the things that the panelists (?) said about it got me interested and I bought it. It's my first signed book. And Mr. D'Souza recognised my name (from my comments on his blog, I'm guessing), which made me feel ridiculously happy. I haven't started Roadrunner yet, but I plan to tonight.

The most interesting thing about the vacation so far has been my work with Vidya. I'd heard about the NGO through my mom's friend whose daughter had volunteered there, and all I knew was that they have some interest in education of slum children and that they have a centre very close to where I live. My meeting with their Voluteer Coordinator got me placed at the Vidya-run school Rainbow Montessori, teaching basic Maths to two classes of Class 2 kids. I've been going there for about ten days now, and it's been quite a lot of fun. It's a little unnerving to have kids stand up and chant "Good afternooooon, maaaaaaam" when I enter the room, and stick out their hands and ask for permission to enter the room, exactly the way we used to do in class 2. And it's very unnerving to realise that I'm actually trying to teach them, which is something that I'm not sure I should be doing since I'm not sure how good I am at it. How am I supposed to make a child understand exactly what place value means, rather than have him memorise the way to answer the questions? And seriously, is there a trick to making students listen to me and not run around class and throw paper balls at each other? They seem to be fond of me, clearly enjoy talking to me and telling me about winning races and Santa Claus coming to their Christmas assembly, and get inordinately excited when I hand out worksheets for them to do, but I'm not sure whether I'm really getting through to them or not. And many times, it's clear that some students understand the concepts I'm trying to explain and some don't; what do I do then? My respect for teachers in general has risen significantly.

And of course, there's all the reading that I finally have the time (and energy) to do. I re-read most of the Harry Potter series and my favourite The Grand Sophy. I spent a day and a night glued to Gone With The Wind, which I'd been intending to read for a long time but never got around to reading. While I loved the book, I closed it feeling a little... cheated? I haven't decided whether I liked the ending or not, but I was definitely left with a feeling of frustration and a little depression, which I tried to get rid of by reading an [extremely] silly Mills and Boon. The plan didn't entirely work since I still spent the next day thinking about Gone With The Wind and trying to decide whether or not to read the sequel by Alexandra Ripley; I have (for now) decided not to. I will spend tonight finishing off Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and starting Roadrunner, Airport by Arthur Hailey and/or Digital Fortress by Dan Brown.

Oh and the driving. I have finally been allowed to take the car out alone, and despite a couple of disagreements with a wall and a tree, and a minor skirmish with an auto, my enthusiasm in driving remains undiminished. I'm driving to Vidya every afternoon, I drove to the book discussion in Crossword, I'm even willing to be put on "chauffeur duty" (as my mom calls it) to pick up and drop my sister to and from her various classes. Driving is fun, isn't it?!

And then there are the movies. I haven't seen as much TV as I had thought I would end up watching (I did see the last few episode of Bones; it’s definitely vying with Grey's Anatomy to become my favourite TV show), but I did see some movies. I finally finished Some Like It Hot, which I didn't like as much as I liked It Happened One Night. I saw The Hunchback of Notre Dame, re-watched Cinderella (which, I realised, is a lot stupider than I remember), Mulan (which is still wonderful), and Pocahontas. I started (but couldn't finish) Man On Fire, and last night, discovered State of Play in my movie collection, which is exactly what I'd been looking for for quite some time (I've had a hankering for a conspiracy theory movie for a while).

So, all in all, a good holiday so far. :D

Untitled

2009-11-18T02:06:00.000+08:00

I need you sometimes

More than you think

I can’t always take

Mistakes that you make

We have different beliefs

We have different ideals

We want different things for the world

Why can’t you respect me?

You don’t read what I write

You don’t hear what I say

You don’t see when I’m sad

You don’t care when I’m mad

Your issues above mine

Your theories over mine

Your wants over mine

Your opinions and thoughts above mine

You over me

Always

Don’t call me a bimbo

Don’t call me a slut

Don’t laugh it all away

It’s not always okay

I was sad in the morning

It wasn’t your doing

But I’m sad now

And it’s your doing

You mean so much to me

But I don't know if that's enough

I may not regret

But you'll be hard to forget

Ghost Butts

2009-10-29T02:24:00.005+08:00

My roommate and I spent our unusually free Wednesday night watching the movie Ghost. I had her assurance that despite the name, the movie could not possibly be classified as "horror", and it was, in fact, quite funny. (I refuse to watch horror movies. I think the last "scary" movie I saw was Kucch To Hai when I was 13. Among my group of maybe 10 friends, no one else found it even remotely creepy; I, however, was shrieking and leaving nail-marks on my friends' arms through most of the movie.)

Anyway, Ghost wasn't a bad way of spending some unexpected free time, even though I realised halfway through the movie that I've seen it before. And it raised an interesting question: how do ghosts stand?

In all the movies I've seen that feature ghosts (and yes, I do accept that there haven't been too many), the ghosts can never touch anything. They can't throw rocks, they can't pick up a glass, they can't poke their loved ones, they can't beat up enemies threatening loved ones. If they're lucky, they can be seen or heard (or both), but the touching is always a problem. Then how is it that they can always stand without falling through the ground? Sam (in Ghost) does learn how to throw and hit and poke, but he was standing on the ground long before he learn to "focus his emotion" onto physical objects and pick them up. How was that happening? Even if we say that the earth is solid, you can't fall "through" it the way ghosts "go through" doors and other objects, how does a ghost stand on a train, or a bridge, or the second floor of a house without falling through and hitting (so to speak) the ground below?

To carry this on, how do they sit? Ghosts are always sitting on chairs and tables and sofas. How do their ghostly butts just not fall through? How do ghosts lean on stuff while making sarcastic comments? How do they kneel on the floor while desperately pleading the aforementioned loved ones to hear them?

My roommate thought that maybe it's because they pass through objects only when they want to. To which I triumphantly pointed out that most of the first half hour of Sam's post-death appearance (in Ghost) was spent by him trying to poke and hit every object he could see, to prove that he was still real; most of that half hour was a pointless exercise. So while he desperately wanted to touch something, he could not; his hand would simply go through it. So why didn't his butt go through the sofa or the chair?

I did try googling this. But if I type "ghost sit", google thinks I've misspelled "site" as "sit", or gives me some video of a ghost sitting in a corner. Typing "ghost stand" tells me what ghosts stand for, but isn't particularly illuminative of the secret-of-physically-standing issue. My research skills, however, aren't all that great (a fact that shows in term papers and essays), so maybe someone can help me out? Is this a glitch that movies have just not able to fix or explain away, or is there some ghostly secret that I don't know about?

Change

2009-10-20T11:08:00.000+08:00

A few days ago, I wrote about how I think I’m not changing in the ways that I should be. I’m not seeing or doing or reading new things, I’m not growing. But another thing that I’ve been thinking about is whether I’m changing in the wrong ways. I’m not the same person that I was a year ago, but am I becoming someone that I don’t want to be?

A few years ago, in the inevitable ‘what do you want in your future boyfriend/girlfriend’ discussions, I had categorically stated that even the tiniest bit of sexism, communalism, racism would turn me off. I said that I can’t be with someone who discriminates, or expects me to do something just because I’m a woman, or goes against everything that I believed in. And the same “rule” should apply to my friends too, not just a boyfriend.

But today, my two best friends are not who I would have “chosen” keeping that “condition” in mind. They often make fun of others’ fatness or less-than-perfect looks. They crack sexist jokes, say things like ‘he’s from the South, how cool can he be?’, disparage hair styles and laugh at people for what they choose to wear. V thinks that the strong south Indian accent that another friend has is hilarious, M refuses to eat at a Muslim restaurant because “they are unhygienic about their food”, and a few weeks ago, V told me that he’s extremely glad that I’ve learnt “how to dress” in the year that I’ve been here.

But I am extremely fond of both V and M. They are great in so many ways, brilliant fun to be with, always ready to help when I need it. They laugh at my funny behavior and bad jokes, and crack enough of their own, don’t make me uncomfortable to show the weird and often bitchy side of me. The three of us are very close, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’m not questioning that friendship here: I’m just wondering whether that friendship is indicating something bigger about me.

Am I changing? Have I become more accepting of the fact that there are chauvinists and racists and communalists in the world, and that I just have to live with it? My friends say that their sexist/racist jokes are just that: jokes. And I know that. But jokes are also rooted in something deeper, right? I’m not calling my friends sexist or racist; they’re definitely not that bad. But they do have some... tendencies might be the right word.

More than the sexist/racist aspect, it’s all the talk about appearances that really bothers me. I’m not the girl who laughs at the fat guy; I’m fat myself and I don’t care. I’m not the girl who discusses the gross factor of stretch marks and dark underarms; I have them myself. I’m not the girl who makes fun of a dress that emphasises a big tummy, or a t-shirt that has too much “bling”. I’m not the girl who walks home talking about how shabby another guy looks, and how he really needs to change that. I’m not that girl, so why am I getting sucked into it? Because my worry is not just that my friends feel the need to laugh at an ugly dress, it’s also that sometimes, I laugh along.

Why am I suddenly trying to go to the gym regularly? It’s not the health factor, or the discipline, or the all the endorphins that actually make me feel good. It’s because my weight and jeans size is starting to bother me. Why am I saying things like “You made out with her? Really?” when I really have nothing against the girl in question. I can’t even justify it in my head when I think about it later. And if I am participating in a discussion about someone’s dressing style, there’s always that faintly uncomfortable and guilty feeling at the back of my head, and ignoring it bothers me.

I know that these jokes are mean and wrong. I know that it still doesn’t matter that someone is fat, or dark, or has a strong accent, or likes bright yellow band-aids, or that a guy has a fairness face-pack and fruity moisturizers in his toiletries basket. My beliefs (so far) are the same. But I’m starting to question them a little too. Are looks really of zero importance? Is it really wrong to laugh at fluorescent green shoes worn by a friend? Is it good that I can look past the fat-jokes and become friends with someone who might, on the surface, believe in everything that I don’t?

Thoughts on College (2)

2009-10-13T10:49:00.004+08:00

I haven’t written anything for a long time. Nothing voluntarily and happily, that is. I’ve written an article for an application, a paper for a course. I haven’t written anything that I wasn’t specifically asked or required to write.

College is supposed to be a time of expanding opportunities, right? It’s supposed to be a time for experimentation, for growth and development of the mind. It’s supposed to be the time when I start trying to become the person that I want to be. At least, that’s what I wanted college to be. I wanted to find things to love and be passionate about; I wanted to try new quirky activities that may or may not lead up to something; I wanted to learn more, about my subject and others, about people, about the world. I wanted to wake up and go for classes that I genuinely found interesting and enjoyed. I wanted to spend my days with interesting people who make me the better off for knowing them. I wanted to spend wild nights with friends, at the beach, or at my apartment, having the most fun I could have.

But college didn’t exactly turn out to be that. Some of my classes are interesting; some of the professors seem to genuinely care about teaching and their subjects. But the thought of the “future” generally makes me panic. I don’t know whether or not I’ll like a “career” in economics. I don’t even know what such a “career” would entail. And because thoughts of what is still a far-away time for me make me panic, I try not to think them at all. I avoid and I distract and I tell myself that I have enough time to worry about the future in the future, that I don’t need to be thinking and deciding and worrying now.

I did meet interesting people, but I found that I have a lot to learn about talking to people. I can’t talk to different people- I always run out of things to say. I’ve met many “social” people, the kind who can walk into a classroom knowing no one and walk out with five peoples’ numbers and plans to meet up with three of those people later. I can’t do that, and it bothers me. My friend circle is entirely Indian, and living in Singapore, that really cannot be a good things.

My wild nights did work out. I’ve been out dancing all night, I’ve been on long walks with good friends, I’ve had deep, meaning-of-life-and-existence-of-God conversations (with or without copious amounts of alcohol); I’ve been to a couple of the really wild “college parties” you see in movies. I’m mostly happy with my social life.

What scares me the most is that I’m really not growing the way I had thought I would. I’m not doing twenty different activities outside of school, I’m not working student jobs to meet people and make some money, I’m not reading about different things, I’m not watching anything very different. In many ways, after a year of college, I’m the same person that I was before college. And that is not how I wanted things to be.

That’s why I love coming home. It’s not just meeting my family and old friends. Every time I come home, I spend time thinking: evaluating what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. A friend asked me once whether this was a habit with me: thinking about my life to change it for the better. I told him that it wasn’t really. All this thinking started after I came to college and realised that everything that I wanted is not exactly right there and easy for me to get. So, every couple of months, when I come home to Delhi, get some space from the school and the people and everyday life in general, the doubts about that get pushed down by the demands of that everyday life resurface. I spend time thinking and evaluating and talking to my friends, and I go back to college “rejuvenated”. I go back with fixed “short-term goals” and plans to achieve those goals.

And every time I do get back to Singapore after a week or a month or more of being home, I find that it’s not that easy to remember those goals. It’s not that easy to have them at the back of your mind. College saps energy, even when I don’t have that much work. I find it hard to summon enough energy and initiative to write out something I’ve been thinking about because it’s just so much easier to spend that free hour watching Bones or Grey’s Anatomy for the millionth time. It’s hard to generate any interest in the book on Pearl Harbour that looked so interesting when I found it in the library, because it’s so much easier to just reread The Beekeeper’s Apprentice for the millionth time. It’s hard to make that long overdue call to an old friend because it’s just so much easier to call that college friend with whom I don’t have to fear those awkward conversation pauses that come after three months of no contact.

I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten around to writing this either. I did spend the entire past week at home without much work, and not too many people to meet, and didn’t write a single word. If I hadn’t been stuck at the airport with a delayed flight, a boring book and a headache that prevents me from listening to music, this piece might have been pushed to the back of my mind, added to the ever-growing list of Things to Do that somehow, I never have the time to get around to actually doing.

That Still Only Counts As One!!

2009-08-09T22:51:00.004+08:00

Of all the stunts Legolas performs in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, this is by far the coolest!

I recently got the extended versions of all three LOTR movies from a friend. And I was horrified to find that there were so many scenes that I'd never seen, despite the fact that my LOTR DVD set is probably one of the best buys I ever made! It's disappointing to think that I don't actually have the movies as well memorised as I had thought... I don't know all the dialogues and all the scenes. I didn't even know that Aragorn is 87 years old!

While I do understand that some scenes have to be deleted to control the length of a movie, they could have left this scene in. It is seriously cool!

An Hour in Heaven

2009-07-29T21:16:00.007+08:00

One of the things I had decided to do over the summer was organise all the stuff on my laptop: have all my music in neat folders labeled properly with artist names; removing the many, many duplicates of songs; getting rid of old programmes I never use, which just slow my laptop down. I also went through an old external hard drive to see if there was anything there I want, and I came across this piece I had written when I was about 15, in the summer of 2006, I think, entitled An Hour in Heaven.

Reading things I wrote years ago generally makes me cringe: I hate reading my old diaries! But I'm kind of fond of this piece, so I've posted it here without any editing. There's very little exaggeration, and as far as I remember, the dessert items have been described quite accurately. I'm glad I haven't started caring about my weight enough to start counting calories yet: I am going to go eat a lot of chocolate now. :)

-----------

An Hour In Heaven

Everyone has different ideas of what their perfect Heaven would be. My Heaven would basically comprise of thousands and thousands of books, my favourite music playing lightly in the background, and every sweet dish ever created available for me to eat. And though I still haven’t had the chance to experience full Heaven, I have spent an hour in what I can call “one-third of Heaven.”

I was spending a couple of weeks of July in Bangalore with my family. We were going shopping everyday, I had bought enough clothes to (hopefully) last me for the rest of the year, and the weather was perfect. And to top it off, Papa had just announced that we would be going to the Leela Palace, the best hotel in Bangalore, for lunch. What more could one want??

We were driven to the Leela in a Lancer (not a limousine, but nearly good enough) provided by Papa’s company. All dressed in the best clothes we could find, we entered the truly royal looking doors of the Leela Palace. The corridors were lit dimly by chandeliers, the huge French windows were hung with crimson satin, and the sweeping staircases reminded me of the castle in ‘Beauty and the Beast’. The passage had several doors leading into various restaurants, one Indian, one Chinese, one Italian, and a coffee house. None of us were in the mood for a quiet, dignified Indian lunch, or for Chinese, and my proposition of eating Italian was outvoted, so we chose to go to Citrus, the coffee house, for our lunch.

We were seated out in the sun by black clad waiters and duly given the menus. After carefully scrutinizing the menu, I decided to go for the lunch buffet. The rest of my family followed suit. I went inside to inspect the rows of dishes for the buffet which were laid out on several tables. There were curries, and pies, and some kind of Thai soup, and a lot of bread and salad. But what I was interested in were the desserts. Sugar and sweets have always attracted me, and needless to say, the sight of the mouth-watering, delicious-looking, chocolatey desserts set out on a counter, all ready for me to eat, made me completely forget about the rest of the lunch. I picked up a plate, and began helping myself to a piece of everything that I could fit.

A piece of the most delectable chocolate cake, which looked as if it would simply melt in my mouth, was the first on the plate. A large helping of chocolate pudding, all soft and gooey, and a big, fat chocolate-and-sugar coated doughnut went after the cake, followed by a piece of cheesecake smothered in sauce. A collection of small wine glasses containing chocolate mousse and what looked like jelly were standing beside the cheesecake, and one was cruelly separated from its companions, its contents soon to enter my stomach.

My mother appeared on the scene just as I was trying to decide whether or not to heap a piece of chocolate and banana pie onto the tiny white space I could still see on my plate, and looking scandalized, sent me to our table to “kill myself eating all that chocolate”. Looking around, I realised that there were several waiters observing my actions with austere, disapproving expressions frozen on their faces. Blushing, I fled from the scene, carrying my plate, to eat my way through heaven in peace.

My parents adamantly refused to believe that I could finish that huge helping by myself, but believe me, not only did I finish it, I went for more. By the time the bill was presented to us (by one of those judgmental waiters), my mother was crimson with embarrassment, my father amused with the proceedings, my sister regarding me with some awe, and I had successfully managed to drown myself in chocolate for the first, and probably the last time, of my life.

I checked my weight when we finally returned to Kanpur three days later. It had increased by two kilos, and even my friends were insisting that I had gained weight. It was not exactly a perfect ending for my Day in Heaven, but that experience was definitely worth every gram of those two kgs, and every word of teasing that I had to endure from my friends for the next two weeks!

Misuse of The "Elegant Sari"

2009-07-18T22:47:00.009+08:00

A friend told me about this article in the Calcutta newspaper 'The Telegraph' today. The article talks about how the Bengal government didn't take any action against bandhs organised by "so-called Congress supporters" in Calcutta; how the police stood to one side and let the bandh supporters torch buses and ransack private property. I don't know anything about this claim, and that's not what my friend wanted me to see in the article. He thought that I would like to see the picture that the Telegraph printed with the article, on the front page of today's newspaper. He was right.

The article doesn't interest me as much as the picture does. The photo is a depiction of the Police Commissioner, Director General of Police, the Chief Minister, the Chief Secretary and the Home Secretary of the Government of West Bengal. All wearing saris.

The article doesn't explain the picture, but it seems clear that the saris are meant to emphasise the inaction of the administrators the article holds responsible. The masculinity, strength, power and abilities of the five men have been challenged by showing them in saris. The picture says "Depict the men as women, because after all, their inaction and inability to control the bandhs shows that they are women". Women are the ones who are incapable of handling a tough job and helping run a state or a city. They are the ones who should stay home in their saris and leave the real work to the men, so how are these men any different from women?

And to top it off, the caption below the picture reads "We apologise to women who may feel the elegant sari has been wasted on our administrators". Because, of course, the first thing that will enter a woman's mind after seeing the picture will be "Oh my god, how can they waste our precious saris on such useless men?? They are not worthy of wearing them!" Annoyance and indignation at the gender discrimination and the extreme sexist statement made by a state newspaper are unlikely to occur. Since, you know, our job is to wear the "elegant sari" and stay home while the men are taking care of the country.

This pictures brings up something I've always wondered about: why is that for men, being called a "girl" is such an insult? There is a guy in my college that a lot of us don't like. To make fun of him, many guys (and some girls also) say that he's "such a girl trapped in a guy's body". I don't understand why this is such an insult. Even if, for the sake of argument, I assume that having an interest in fashion and cooking, and shaking your hips and hair while dancing, and liking to shop, are "feminine", I still don't get why a guy being "feminine" is something to be ashamed of and made fun of.

So, while I mull over the inexplicable ways a guy's mind functions, I think I shall write to/email the Telegraph and ask that instead of apologising for wasting my "elegant sari" on people so unfit to wear them, they might apologise for practicing gender discrimination right on their front page.

But I know Viola! I kissed Viola!

2009-07-17T03:40:00.004+08:00

I’ve had quite a lot of time on my hands this vacation, and as usual, a lot of that time has been spent watching movies. Over the past few days, I watched a lot of “romantic comedies”. The string started with The Accidental Husband, went on to include 100 Girls, She’s The Man and Chasing Liberty, and ended with The Proposal today. And while all these movies left me with that fuzzy feeling inside that I always get after watching/reading a romance, and a stupid smile on my face, none of these movies are going to stay with me. I doubt I’ll ever even watch any of them again. I just didn’t like them that much.

The first problem that I’ve noticed in a lot of “romantic comedies” is that the protagonists seem to be able to get to know each other enough to fall in love. Realistically, I mean. They do fall in love in the movie, but the time that they spend together, the time in which they apparently get to “know” each other, always seems way too short to me. Take The Proposal as an example. Margaret (Sandra Bullock) blackmails her assistant Andrew (Ryan Reynolds) into marrying her so that she can get a visa-extension and stay in the Unites States. Andrew duly agrees, and the “happy couple” visits his family in Alaska to announce the engagement. Except, of course, Margaret actually falls in love with Andrew, and runs away from the fake wedding, only to be proposed to by Andrew who comes after her. They get married, she gets her visa extended, and they “date” and presumably live happily ever after.

In this movie, Andrew has been working for Margaret for three years, and has hated her for all of those three years. She’s shown as being “tough”: she’s the office bitch. But in the three days that they spend together in Alaska, Andrew apparently sees the “real” Margaret and falls for her. But there is nothing that happens in those three days that could negate the effects of a three-year-long hatred. She shares a couple of personal stories about her past and tells Andrew about her tattoo, and that’s that, apparently.

There’s one scene that really bugged me in She’s The Man. The movie is about Viola who impersonates her twin brother Sebastian in order to join his school’s soccer team, and in the process, falls for her [brother’s] roommate. In the scene in which “Sebastian” is revealed to be Viola, a girl, the roommate Duke is duly shocked, though not because he spent so much time with her without realizing that she’s a girl. No, his disbelief was because “I know Viola. I kissed Viola.” The only contact that Duke knowingly had with Viola was a kiss they shared at a “kissing booth”. That, apparently, is all Duke needs to know Viola.

The second thing that annoys me about these romantic comedies is that the heroine never seems to have enough of a personality. There is nothing that comes across in the movie that would make someone fall in love with them. In Chasing Liberty, the First Daughter of USA runs away with a photographer to get away from her ever-present bodyguards, not knowing that the photographer is also a Secret Service agent. The couple spend a few days traveling around Europe and end up falling in love. Throughout the movie, the only aspects of Anna’s personality that we see are a demand for independence and a penchant for creating “theories” of life, neither of which seem to me to be enough for Ben (who did display some personality) to fall for her so badly.

This is something that I’ve disliked in many books I’ve read too. The heroines never seem to have a personality! In nearly every Mills and Boons I’ve read, the guy is always a handsome, strong, rich playboy-type, generally sarcastic and arrogant, with an inclination to play Knight in Shining Armour. But the heroines don’t have a personality at all! They’re all beautiful, of course, and seem to love being the Damsel in Distress often, but beyond that, there’s nothing!

Georgette Heyer’s romances are really good with respect to time the “couple” spends together and personalities of the women. The main romance is always developed properly, over a long period of time, even though the stories of the side characters may be hasty and synthetic. Her main heroines are always more than just a pretty face (several of them are not even pretty, which is a massive step up from many other romances). This is also one of the reasons why I love Jab We Met. Kareena Kapoor does have a personality, a very memorable and strong, though fairly annoying, one.

I’d like to watch a light-hearted romance in which the story seems real and plausible. Made of Honour is a movie that I really liked: Patrick Dempsey and Michelle Monaghan were friends for ten years before they fell in love. I can’t think of any other romantic comedies I’ve watched that had a reasonable storyline, but I’m sure there are some. Recommendations?

Some Thoughts on Writing

2009-07-04T23:19:00.001+08:00

One of the biggest problems I faced while writing was a lack of ideas. I just didn’t know what to write about. At that time, for me, “writing” meant fiction- novels or short stories. I hadn’t started reading any blogs then, so that was the only form of writing I was familiar with. I wanted to be like JK Rowling and Enid Blyton, and create worlds for readers like my favourite authors then had created for me. So while I knew that I wanted to write, I didn’t know what.

Then a friend gave me the link to his blog, and I became a regular reader. The links he’d posted on his blog led me to new blogs, and those blogs led me to more, and suddenly, a whole new world of writing opened up to me- a world where people wrote about their thoughts and ideas, their observations and everyday lives, as well as fiction. That’s when I realised that a lot of what I write can, and maybe should be about what I know, even if it is fiction. I cannot write a story about a girl living in Nigeria, or a poor child living in a slum, because I don’t know much about life in Nigeria or a slum. Anything that I might write about it will be improbable and maybe even implausible.

Not that this epiphany helped me suddenly overflow with ideas. Even after I deicded to write about myself and my thoughts and observations, even after I started my first blog, I had no idea what to write about. My blog lay untouched for days on end: I just didn’t know what to post about! Why would people want to read about my life and my thoughts? Then I decided to stop thinking about what people want to read, and just write. But I still didn’t have too many ideas.

In the past few weeks, however, this seems to have changed. Ideas are coming running at me, many times just before I sleep, so I keep a pad next to my bed and groggily jot down some words to help me remember the idea the next day. I’m seeing things to write about everywhere, from a trip to the mall to a conversation with a friend. And I really, really hope this lasts.

Of Butts and Long Legs

2009-06-17T08:33:00.003+08:00

The numerous, often un-explainable glitches in the Indian fashion industry continue to baffle me. For one thing, I’ve never understood why when one style is “in fashion”, it’s impossible to find something of a different style. For the past few months, low-waist jeans have been “the fashion”. And for the last few months, I have been unable to find any jeans that are at my waist, not four inches below it. Today, I tried on nine pairs of jeans (I counted!) before I found one [hideously expensive] pair that I could wear. “Madam, aaj kal to yeh hi chal raha hai” (Madam, this is what is being worn these days) was what I was told every time I asked for jeans that were not low-waist.

Besides, I can’t even understand why low-waist jeans are so popular. Unless I’m wearing them the wrong way, low-waist jeans seem to be especially designed to display my underwear to the whole world. Of course, it is entirely possible (probably, in fact) that these jeans are designed for girls with butts significantly smaller than mine. On their small-sized butts, maybe the jeans look stylish, instead of bordering on inappropriate or obscene. And since I haven’t seen many girls showing off their Jockey or Enamour underwear, I guess those jeans really aren’t meant for me.*
Whatever the case, I refuse to believe that there are no girls who don’t want the entire world to know the colour of their underwear, or alternatively, girls with butts as big as (or bigger than) mine. Why oh why won’t Jealous 21 or Pepe Jeans realise this? How can they not see us and our [big] butts?

Another phenomenon that continues to mystify me is the utter non-existence of shorts for women in the market. I went to Globus, Lifestyle and Pantaloons today, looking for jeans and shorts. After spending half an hour in the trial room in Pantaloons (and severely testing the patience of the guy who was assisting me), I did manage to find a pair of jeans. But the only shorts for women that I found in any of these shops either reached three inches below my knee (too long) or three inches below my butt (too short). Where were all the knee-length-or-slightly-shorter shorts that so many girls need in the Delhi summer heat? I finally came home with three pairs of grey and black cotton shorts for men, found in Big Bazaar.

There is, of course, the chance that I am shopping in all the wrong places. I did try Sarojini Nagar for shorts, came home with shorts meant for men again. Delhi-dwellers, any ideas?

*Which brings me to a complaint I’ve always had: the problem of not finding clothes in my size. I’ve written about it here, though today, for a change, I actually found nine pairs of jeans in my size. And a dress.

Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer

2009-06-05T03:37:00.005+08:00

My term ended last week, and I finally got home after about three months on the 1st of June. My summer holidays are more than two months long (and this is after I did an extra term for five weeks!) so I came home with Plans. Lots and lots of Plans. I made The List of things I wanted to do over the summer. Guitar classes, driving lessons, a loooong reading list, cooking lessons at home etc etc etc. I was fully prepared to make sure that I didn't "waste" my summer, but used it productively.

Now, it's been four days since I've been home. The "Summer To Do List" has been stuck up over my desk. All the books on my reading list are sitting in a pile next to my bed and on my bedside table. Four more books that I bought yesterday have been added to that pile. I have an article to write and submit by the end of this week, several ideas for pieces I want to write for myself, and some studying to do to be super-prepared for next semester. The guitar that tested the good humour and politeness training of the lady at the check-in counter at the Singapore airport is just sitting at one end of the room, looking desolate and unused.

Yet all I can seem to find the energy to do is play endless games of Bubble or Crazy Taxi on my laptop, trying to beat all my friends' high scores, or make fun of Aishwarya Rai in Bride and Prejudice (and sigh over Martin Henderson) or sleep for countless number of hours in a day. Or try and figure out a weekend on which the calendars of my considerably busier family members are empty, so we can go on holiday together (and laze around some more).

What is it about summer that makes one so lethargic? It's not the heat.. I haven't really left my relatively cool room in the last few days. I think it's just the knowledge that I have two-and-a-half months to accomplish all that I want to, so really, there's no need to start right now, is there?!

Facebook it!

2009-04-07T16:20:00.002+08:00

I know many people who, after every vacation, insist on showing me each and every picture they took. I am obliged to sit for half an hour looking at photos of people I don't even know, and to add to that, listen to the background story behind every picture! Why do people assume I'd be that interested? I mean, for my close friends and family, yes, I'll ask for the photos myself. Butwhy do people I spend next to no time with think that I'd really care enough to look at photos of them in their new house, with their new dog, with their old friends or vacationing in Shanghai?!

What people should do is put up their pictures on Facebook. That way, I can go through them if I want to, at my own pace, skipping as many as I want. This is the one actual good use of Facebook that I can see.

The Dark Side of Grey's Anatomy

2009-03-25T14:01:00.006+08:00

Before I reached my rebellious, I'll-do-what-I-want phase, I had to follow the rules that were implemented at home. There weren't too many of them.. just some general curfew rules, and some about studies. I didn't have a problem with most of the rules. But the one rule I remember that irked me was the 'No-TV-on-weekdays' rule.

My father was always the anti-TV person at home. He believed that TV was a waste of time, especially for kids. He wanted my sister and me to do something "constructive" with our free time. He always told us to get out of the house, play something, try something new, do anything other than spending an hour in front of the TV. (He still says that, actually). And that was the time when IIT had just gotten many new channels on cable... Cartoon Network and Disney Channel were the new "thing" amongst the kids. And so, that 'No-TV-on-weekdays' rule really irked.

Then, when I grew past the age of having to follow the rules, I entered an obsessive TV-watching phase. I discovered the wonderful, wonderful world of downloaded episodes, fell in love with Patrick Dempsey and spent most of my after-class-10th vacations making my father hover on the brink of shouting at me by obsessively downloading and watching the entire series of Grey's Anatomy, among other shows. College in Singapore put a halt to my excessive downloading, but then the online streaming of Will and Grace and Two and A Half Men started.

After years of all this, I have, of course, realised that the world of TV-watching isn't as harmless as I had claimed when I argued with my father about his rules. I don't know whether all the violence on TV influences teenagers or not, or whether the "Western beliefs" showed on TV are infiltrating and corrupting my "Indian culture". I do, however, know that these TV shows can be highly depressing.

I don't generally wish that I had a guy as perfect as Derek Shepherd from Grey's Anatomy in my life, or go "Awwww...." when Derek and Meredith's legendary love overcomes all obstacles (such as Derek being married) in the show. It's not the love stories that make me jealous or melancholy. It's all the drama in TV series that I find depressing. I find myself wishing that my life had some of the constant drama that exists in Tree Hill or Seattle Grace Hospital. I want my life to be more interesting. I want something, anything, to happen!

That's why I think watching so much TV is bad for me. Not because it wastes a lot of time that would be better spent doing the work I have piled up, or because it gets me very involved in the lives of people that don't exist, but because the hectic and dramatic lives of those non-existent people makes me feel bored and unsatisfied with my own normal life.

I'm Actually an Adult!

2009-03-13T14:05:00.006+08:00

It's a little weird how living so far away from home is forcing me to do all sorts of things I never would have had to do if I was living at home. For example, I wouldn't have to pay (or bother) to do my own laundry, nor would I have to hunt for vegetarian-food-serving restaurants (or cook for myself). I wouldn't have to walk to college while it's raining bloody cats and dogs, and get completely soaked on the way, or pester my hostel-in-charge to come and fix the blocked sinks in my unit.

I also wouldn't be in a situation where I would find myself homeless in a month unless I arrange for some accommodation myself. I wouldn't have to call a dozen real estate agents, searching for a decent, affordable apartment that meets the varied specifications and expectations that my 4 flat-mates and I have. I wouldn't have to negotiate the rent down, pay commission to the agent, or sign leases.

But, after a couple of weeks and $60 worth of phone calls and messages, I finally have an apartment. And a really killer one at that. We sign something called the 'Letter of Intent' today, and the official lease/contract sometime next week. I have to say, I'm a little proud of myself for doing all this work. Even though I didn't actually manage to negotiate the rent of this place down by much, I did talk down the rent for two other apartments that we didn't end up taking, and I did it all almost by myself.

I don't know whether this experience and all the other experiences that I personally don't believe I'm old enough (or sensible enough) to be having right now are teaching me anything, or making me more mature and sensible. But I do hope they are. Starting April, I will be living completely unsupervised in an apartment with four other girls, and I really hope I'm ready for all the expected responsibilities (such as paying the bills and the rent on time) and the unexpected responsibilities that we will all have to bear. I'm actually an adult now; I'm growing up!

On a slightly related note: sometimes, the amount of independence I have here overwhelms me. It hits me at random moments: how I'm completely free to do almost anything I want. I have complete control over my expenditure. I can buy things that my parents certainly wouldn't let me buy if I was at home, I can go out and not have a curfew, I can skip a lecture and go shopping instead. I think this freedom actually teaches me more responsibility than I could ever have learned living at home. Maybe I actually can deal with having my own place better than I think I can.

Man On The Flight

2009-02-28T03:19:00.000+08:00

A man was sitting next to me in my flight home last week. A fairly annoying and talkative man. Every time I tried watching a movie, he’d start a conversation that would force me to pause the movie and talk to him. He started with “Your good-name, please?”, and then went on to ask me what I do in Singapore, how long I’ve been there, and how much I paid for my ticket home. He then proudly informed me that he was a doctor and proceeded to advise me to not bite my nails or play with my cuticles, because doing so greatly increases the risk of infection.

I have never been very open to advice, especially the unasked-for variety, so the free medical advice was the first thing that irritated me. Then the various, un-encouraged attempts at conversation turned me off. And then came the touching.

Jet Airways allows very little personal space to its passengers. So, I couldn’t be sure whether the ‘touching’ was intentional or not. But throughout the 5-hour flight, I was at edge, on my guard. There wasn’t a lot I could do at this point, except pointedly putting my cushion on the arm-rest between the man and me and keeping my knees tucked away from his side. But I kept thinking about how sad the whole situation was. Here I was, sitting next to a man who could easily be perfectly respectable and decent, but I just couldn’t convince myself that he was perfectly respectable and decent. As far as I was concerned, his elbow that was always ever-so-slightly on my side could as easily be a precursor to more contact.

I’ve been felt up in crowded markets and malls more than once. So has almost every girl I know. And because of this, I can’t trust any stranger. I’m always suspicious, always on my guard. Was the elbow that poked my ribs supposed to do that? Is his knee touching mine under our meal-tables intentional? Is he getting some perverse pleasure from leaning forward when I do and leaning back when I do? Is this man trying to make a pass at me?

The sexual harassment most women face everyday doesn’t just affect us at that moment, or spoil just one day. My experiences at the markets and malls affect how I look at strange men everyday. Every invasion of my personal space is a potential threat; every seemingly innocent touch has a deeper, uglier purpose. And every male neighbour on a flight is potentially a reason to call a steward for help.

A New Use for Pink Thongs Has Been Discovered

2009-02-10T13:01:00.006+08:00

I was in the middle of my Technology and World Change class when my Times of India epaper homepage informed me about the the Chaddi Campaign . Believe me, not bursting out in laughter in the middle of another group's presentation was very, very hard.

The Consortium of Pub-going, Loose and Forward Women are hilariously cheeky, and amazingly creative. I shall try to send my newly bought hot-pink chaddis in from Singapore. So please, read about the Campaign, buy pink chaddis, and send them in!

There is Something I Don't Like About the LOTR Trilogy

2008-12-28T03:49:00.001+08:00

I just watched all three Lord of the Rings movies for the second time [this week], and I found two things I don't like about them.

One, Frodo. Yes, he's the main character, the "saviour of the day" and all that. But what does he really do? First movie, when the Fellowship is stuck in the Mines of Moria, and they get attacked by orcs and trolls at Bali's tomb, Frodo gets hit by a spear that would have (in the words or Aragorn), "skewered a boar". Except he doesn't actually get skewered. His coat of Mithril saves him, and he's barely scratched. But what does Frodo do?* Instead of pushing the spear away and showing he's unhurt, he promptly falls on the floor (as if dead) and then plays dead while the others get rid of the orcs. I mean, I know most of the drama of him falling, and the sound effects, were probably to scare people watching the movie, but it just seemed so silly!

Throughout the trilogy, we keep seeing examples of Frodo not really being able to do anything at all. He puts the Ring on on at least two ocassions that I can think of that really could have gotten him (and everyone else) killed, he sent Sam away in the third movie when Sam was actually the only reason why he actually got as far as he did, and then, to top it off, he refused to throw the Ring into the fire at the end! Yes, I know that the Ring is evil. It has the power to influence people, to capture their minds, but it all makes Frodo seem so weak. I generally tend to forward the parts of the DVD that feature him.

The second thing I really didn't like was the Arwen-Aragorn-Eowyn love triangle. More specifically, it's solution. I'm all for the love triangle. It's very understandable that both women would fall for Aragorn. But why would he choose Arwen? The only time she actually showed some spirit was in the first movie, when she took Frodo to Rivendell. Otherwise, she doesn't really seem to do anything.

Eowyn, on the other hand, has all my admiration. She does her "duty" for the first two movies; she leads the women and children to Helm's Deep when orcs attack the people of Rohan, she stays with them in the caves during the battle of Helm's Deep. But we can see her yearning to fight, to do something to help! Finally, in the third movie, she not only dresses as a man to go to war, but takes Merry with her. And she brings down an elephant on her own, and kills the Nazgul and it's rider (whom no man can kill) by herself. Seriously, what is cooler than her dialogue, "I am no man!"??

Aragorn is my favourite character, but I would love him so much more if he'd fallen in love with Eowyn.

*I haven't finished reading the books yet, so I don't know if all this is just a dramatisation in the movie

See? Graphs Can Be Fun

2008-11-13T18:14:00.004+08:00

My Maths prof sent us this link today. In his words: "In case you get bored/tired with exam prep, here's a fun way to ~~waste your time~~ relax". He also sent us the link to the webpage he uses to get "fun-facts" about brilliant [and dead] mathematicians, which he then shares with us in every class as "The Dead Person of The Week". See why I love this class?

Thoughts on College (1)

2008-11-10T20:24:00.005+08:00

I used to live in Kanpur. I had a big group of friends, many of whom I've now known for nearly 18 years. Then I moved to Delhi and made new friends. I remained in touch with most of my Kanpur friends; I visited them in Kanpur, they visited me in Delhi. Then, I came to Singapore for college. Again, new friends, new life. This time, it was harder to stay in touch with everyone. I talk to three my best friends regularly, but I lost touch with the fourth. And with many of my friends whom I wasn't so close with but still liked a lot.

Facebook shows me bits and pieces of the lives that my friends are now leading. Of the people they live with, of their new friends and their colleges. And I just realised how weird it is that I'm not in any of those pictures. It's almost freaky how different our lives are now. We live in different countries, we hang out with different people.

I have good friends here in Singapore, but honestly, I've known them for too short a time for me to be really important in their lives. And maybe they're not as important in my life as I think they are either.

In three weeks, my holidays start. All of us go back to our separate lives in different cities. And while I'm very excited about meeting my old friends, and going back home, I'm afraid of losing touch with my new friends. It's been my experience that half your life can seem very unreal at times. For example, when I used to visit Kanpur, my life in Delhi would seem very unreal. So, when we all go home, meet our family and old friends, Singapore may seem unreal. And that may mean that we lose touch with each other for a month. And I don't want that to happen.

So, What Do You Want To Be?

2008-10-25T01:54:00.003+08:00

One of the first questions I remember being asked is what I want to do when I grow up. I was asked this when I was a little kid, and my answer was always different. I went through the author phase, the doctor phase, the social worker phase (interestingly, I don't ever remember saying I want to be a teacher or an engineer). I was asked the same question as I grew older, after class 10, in class 11 and 12.

But while I always had an answer when I was a kid, I don't have one now. When I graduated from school, the questions became more persistent and serious. People asked me what career I'm planning to pursue, and "I don't know" was never accepted as a real answer. "Kuch to idea hoga na, beta." You always have to have some idea. When I chose to come to Singapore and study Economics, I was told that it's a smart choice... "Economics mein to bahut potential hai".

I didn't really have a reason for choosing Economics. After class 10, one thing I knew was that I didn't want to continue Science. So I chose Humanities. After class 12, I chose Economics because the little that I had seen of it, I liked. But still, I have no "plans" for my future. I don't even know which courses I want to take next semester, which co-curricular activities I want to join. The rest of my life is too far away for me to plan. I don't know whether this is good or bad... all my friends here and in India seem to have answers to what they want to do when they grow up. Some want to be engineers, one wants to be a designer, some want to start their own businesses. I'm hoping that after four years here in Singapore, I'll have some answer for "what I want to be when I grow up".

This is Not A Good Week

2008-10-21T11:55:00.003+08:00

It started with me crying my eyes out, and that too in front of a friend, which just makes me feel very stupid and pathetic. The crying led to me missing my two best friends, since they always let me be all pathetic around them and didn't judge me for it, and knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. And I don't know when (or if) I'll see one of them again.

Then there was a boring class followed by a very boring meeting. Then another very long, quite boring Statistics meeting, where again I felt stupid since I'm not any good at stats.

There is an important decision I have to make soon, and I'm sure I'll pick the wrong choice and everything will be screwed up. So now I have a this sinking feeling. A very bad feeling. This is definitely not a good week.

I Would Have Hated the 1950s

2008-10-15T20:50:00.002+08:00

Was it really this bad back then?

What Can I Say?!

2008-10-15T11:52:00.005+08:00

I've lived in IIT all my life, first in Kanpur, then in Delhi. My father is an alumnus and a professor. So, I tend to take comments and discussions about IIT a little defensively, even though I'm not actually part of the instituion. But this is un-defendable. I came across it yesterday, and it I'm very glad to see that it's had a quite an impact.... there are many blogs talking [ranting] about it.

I don't have anything new or highly creative to say about this, so read this and this and this. They say everything I want to. I'm just glad I was in class when I first came saw the link, because I would have definitely shouted at someone if I didn't have time to cool down first.

PANIIT did change the programme a little bit. But, as Abi says, small mercies indeed.

There And Back Again

2008-10-13T01:54:00.004+08:00

I went home to Delhi last week, and I returned to Singapore today afternoon. Neither going home, nor coming back have been as I had thought they would.

Home was a little exhausting. My mother and I are close: I was at home for most of this year, since my school gave us study leave in January, and I spent all of that time with my mum. My mother is a very emotional person. So, talks of me leaving home and how much she misses me happen frequently. And they make me uncomfortable. Although I do think I'm a fairly emotional person, I don't display it very much. I prefer to cry alone than on the shoulder of a friend, I prefer to write about things that bother me than to talk about them. So, home was a little exhausting.

Besides, last week, I had a lot of idle time to think. And I finally accepted to myself that what I'm doing in college is not what I want to be doing. I'm not studying (at all), I'm being very, very lazy, and I'm breaking all the promises I made to myself before I started college. I'm a very lazy person, and I hate that about myself. I stopped singing simply because I didn't like my teacher and was too lazy to find a new one, and now, I've lost most of the skills and talent that I had. In school, I didn't participate in many activities, promising myself that I would be more outgoing and active in college, but here again, I'm making excuses for myself to not go for the clubs I joined. I promised myself that I would do very well academically, another thing I didn't do in school, but again, I'm trying to get out of project meetings, not listening in class, behaving very irresponsibly. Not only am I not working, I'm even constantly badgering my friends who are working. And all this introspection, healthy though it may be, makes me panic, which is very exhausting.

Coming back to Singapore was just a little bit of an anti-climax, I guess. I was looking forward to coming back, and I know I tend to build things up in my head, imagine situations, what I would say, what my friends would say, so I should have expected this. I know I was only gone for a week; nothing amazing is supposed to happen when I come back. I just wanted it to.

Things I Want to be Able to do..

2008-09-25T16:49:00.004+08:00

...even if I choose not to exercise that ability.

Study for 18 hours at a stretch to finish an assignment
Be a fantastic writer!
Play the guitar really well
Sing along with the guitar
Come up with interesting things to blog/write about
Draw
Not get jealous so easily
Be close with all the people I like without offending any of them
Get along with complete strangers (and by "get along", I mean being able to carry on a simple conversation without any long ankward pauses)
Be one of those rare few students who manage to maintain a 3.8 GPA without cutting off their social life

Stupid Balancing Act

2008-09-16T17:40:00.006+08:00

Before I started college here in Singapore, many people told me about the importance of balancing my studies and my social life. It's a problem everyone faces, right? Well, I did expect it, I just didn't expect the balancing to be so hard. I always managed just fine in school; I assumed it would be the same in college. But it's a lot harder to say no to hanging out when I'm living in the same hostel as my friends.

I don't know how to choose studying over hanging out with my friends. So far, I've been lucky; I don't have much work anyway. But the assignments and the tests will soon start, and I will have to start staying up late to study instead of staying up late to talk. And I don't want to limit my social life.

College is full of decisions, isn't it?!

What is this Blog?

2008-09-09T13:24:00.006+08:00

I've recently started thinking about what I want this blog to be. The easiest is, of course, things I notice in my personal life and want to talk about. But I don't see how that can ever interest anyone except the people I know. And I don't want my blog to be something visited only by my friends, or a way of getting a message across to them that I would be uncomfortable actually saying in person. And (I shamelessly confess) I want comments. Lots and lots of comments. So, my posts have to be something that make strangers want to comment, not just my friends. (In fact, I don't even like giving my friends the link to my blog. Knowing that people I know are reading my posts inevitably affects what I write and the way I write it.)

What I really want my blog to be is like this one. A funny, witty, interesting blog that makes people have to visit everyday and comment. But I'm not that good or creative a writer.

So, what do I do? Should I just write about whatever I feel like and not worry about comments and responses? Or should I wait until inspiration strikes and then try to be witty?

All Mine!!

2008-09-08T23:59:00.003+08:00

Is possessiveness bad? I'm very possessive about my friends. And jealousy comes along with possessiveness, I guess. I don't like it when any of the friends I consider close (or really like), are very close to people I don't know or don't like. One of my closest friends in Singapore is very good friends with another girl whom I don't really know, and I don't like that. Another of my friends has recently found someone else he prefers to hang out with, and I don't like that either.

People always assume that I "like like" a guy if I'm possessive about him. But I think it's more natural to be possessive about friends rather than crushes. I may not like the fact that my crush likes someone else more than he likes me, but it hurts more when a friend prefers someone else to me.

Stupid Cupid

2008-08-31T00:54:00.006+08:00

Isn't it amazing how people always seem to find girlfriends/boyfriends so easily? More specifically, isn't it amazing how they find someone they like so easily? I have been in college in Singapore for two weeks; the other Indians have been here for a little over a month. And yet, in our group of about 15 people (6 girls, 9 guys), there are already three couples. What are the chances that out of 9 guys, you'll find one you want to go out with? (I am assuming that Indians have an easier time falling for other Indians, which I do believe is true). Isn't that probability quite low?

I have only ever really liked one guy. Who didn't like me back. And who decided to completely cut me off for no apparent reason after being one of my best friends for a year. I'm not saying that my friends who are dating don't like each other. I just think it's strange (and very lucky) that they find someone they like so easily and in such little time, and who (again very luckily) happened to like them back.

Contradictory thought: After thinking a bit, I realised that it's actually not all that hard to have a "crush" on someone. Assuming that the crush is just that and nothing serious at all. I have those one-day (or somewhat longer) crushes; I have one now. So, I guess it's quite normal to find someone so quickly.

Making Friends

2008-08-25T17:45:00.004+08:00

I had no idea making friends would be this hard. Somehow, even though I know I'm not friendliest of people, nor the easiest to get along with, I've never faced the problem of not having friends that I like, or of not being friends with someone I like. And I had thought it would be the same in Singapore. In fact, I was more worried about moving to Delhi two years ago than I was about studying in Singapore. I figured that since there would only be so many Indians here, we'd hang out a lot, and I would make friends easily enough (as bitchy as this sounds, I do have a harder time getting along with "foreigners" than with Indians).

Well, there are many Indians at my hostel, and we do hang out a lot. And I do have friends that I like a lot. It's just that a couple of people I really would like to be friends with (surprisingly, all guys- Vishal, Varun and others) don't seem to be very interested. And I'm too shy and awkward to be forward and friendly and make them like me. sigh.....

I know I've only been here ten days, while Nikhita (the girl everyone loves and therefore, the girl I am occasionally very jealous of) has been here for at least a month. But I suspect that I'm going to have a much harder time making friends than she did. Talking freely with virtual strangers does not come naturally to me. :(

Theoretically

2008-07-20T03:24:00.004+08:00

Next month, I will be starting college in Singapore Management University. I considered many different things before finally deciding to go, listed several reasons to stay. Recently, I realised that one thing I will miss out on in Singapore is the discomfort of Indian hostel life. My hostel in Singapore is air-conditioned, as are the classrooms and all the other college buildings. I have to share a bathroom with only two other girls; the 'hostel' is actually an apartment building, so I will have a fridge and a microwave in my apartment (that I will be sharing with five other girls). I won't learn to live on crappy food, live in the heat without an AC, to share a bathroom with an entire floorful of girls.

This is, of course, a theoretical statement. Practically, I love the air-conditioning, the bathrooms and electricity, the wi-fi enabled campus, the comfort. :) Also, I do realise that I've made a very broad generalisation about Indian hostels... not having lived in any, or having talked about hostel life with anyone who has, I have relied completely on the general cliches people mention when discussing college and hostels.

Where Are The Cute Guys?

2008-05-25T15:28:00.005+08:00

Two of my friends from Kanpur visited yesterday. Roaming around in Vasant Vihar, they remarked on something that I (and my Delhi friends) have been moaning about for months- the remarkable absence of cute guys in Delhi. There are enough cute girls around to force me to whack my guy friends for staring, but no cute guys for me to stare at. Very unfair.

Also somewhat related: who can you see on TV other than actors and sportsman? My friend Anuja has made me notice all the hot actors on TV- Patrick Dempsey, Hugh Laurie, Jesse Spencer, Shahid Kapoor, Kunal Kapoor etc. But this post (the last bracketed line of para 1) on Aishwarya's blog made me realise that I don't know where else to find hot guys. There seems to be a big lack of them in real life, and reel life seems to offer only sportsmen (which doesn't help me, since I watch no sports) and actors.

Where are all the cute guys?

(Lack Of) Creativity

2008-05-22T21:37:00.003+08:00

I have come to believe that out of all the qualities a person can possess, creativity is the most important. Primarily because it can prevent one from getting bored. And right now, boredom seems to be the worst thing that can hit one. Even if it does last just a few days and does not kill you. It does, however, force me to turn to TV, and I'm sure long hours of House MD, Bones and Scrubs are harming parts of me other than my eyes.

My school has ended, but college has not yet begun. Results come out tomorrow, but forms on the 2nd of June. So, for the next ten days, I have nothing (not even the filling out of forms) to entertain me. I have spent the last few days of my vacation being utterly bored, and looks like I'll be spending the next few days the same way.

I lack creativity. I don't know what to do, I can't invent anything to entertain myself with, and thus, end up spending 8 hours a day watching the 160GB worth of TV shows I've downloaded. Even old hobbies do not seem enticing.

I am at a loss.

Woes of Fatness

2008-05-09T16:06:00.006+08:00

The world of female shopaholics is divided very firmly into two categories- fat girls, and not-fat girls. I unfortunately belong to the former.

My main issue with my fatness (I say "fatness" because "obesity" sounds so much fatter) is not that I can almost never look good. Or that my powers of attracting guys are next to nil. Or that I'm so heavy that my future boyfriend can definitely never sweep me off my feet. My problem is clothes. I can't buy many of the shirts that I really like. Anything that is "pretty" is not available in my size, which is generally two sizes larger than XL. I can't shop at Sarojini Nagar for cheap clothes because many of them turn out to be too tight later when I try them on. And for me, finding clothes is even more traumatic because I happen to have big breasts. So the clothes that may actually be big enough to house my stomach are too tight at my chest. Most shops here apparently don't believe in making nice clothes for fat people!

I even have large feet! My foot-size is one size larger than the largest size available in markets. I can't buy wedges or pumps (which are terms I learnt recently), so I'm forced to wear the chappals that are open at the back so that my heel can stick out a little.

I am currently forced to satisfy the shopaholic in me by shopping for my friends (all of whom happen to be thin with regular-sized feet).

Stupid, stupid months

2008-02-15T18:06:00.003+08:00

God, I hate these two months (Feb and March). The not-so-dreaded class 12 board exams are approaching, and this apparently means that I am expected to be confined to the... confines of my room all day, speak in hushed and serious tones (preferaby about the 'progress of my studies'), and look exhausted and over-worked. The facts that I am not stressed at all, still try to enjoy small pleasures such as watching TV, and actually spend at least an hour a day on the phone are constant sources of astonishment, and, occasionally, awe.

But what I hate most about these months is not studying the same bloody chapters and the same bloody subjects again and again, or the fact that spending two hours on the phone everyday constitutes what I call my personal life, or the weekly calls of one of my more studious friends, explaining in great detail what she's studied over the past few days and what she's planning to study over the next few days, and actually believing that I'm interested, or the fact that my history teacher actually tripped over nothing when I told her I still have eight chapters of the syllabus to finish (this was in the first wek of February), or all my teachers asking me how many hours a day I'm studying, and telling me in appropriately dramatic tones that they are relying on me to get about 95 in each subject, or the fact that my last meeting with any of my friends was a week ago.

No, what I hate most about these months is that everytime I step out of my room, and start doing anything else, my parents immediately say "Yeh hum kar lenge, tum apne kaam karo" (We'll do this, you do your work). And saying, when I take it to be an indication that they think I should be studying, that "work" does not necessarily mean study ("you have to, of course, take breaks"). All they want, apparently, is that I not burden myself mentally with anything other than my approaching exams.

It's not that my parents pressure me. In fact, I'm better off than many of my other classmates. They don't even directly tell me study. It's just that I know that even I do something as simple as make reservations for them at a restaurant for Valentine's, they think it is unnecessary. These months, even if I don't study much, my 'mental focus' has to be on my studies.

I do realise that since I chose not to take up Science/engineering, my board results will, effectively and unfortunately, decided which college I study in, and which subject I study. But I am just so tired of the assumption that just because my life-determining exams are near, my life should consist of nothing but studying. That is not going to happen.

Show Me The Funny

2008-01-12T18:26:00.000+08:00

Since I have finally figured out how to post a video on my blog, here's Russell Peters. There were a couple more I really liked, but I can't find them now. If you like him, there are many, mny more videos on Youtube.

Travelling

Beating Your Kids

Open-mindedness

2008-01-03T01:50:00.001+08:00

I want to be open minded. And I think I am. But I don't truly understand what being 'open-minded' or liberal means. I don't even know whether the two terms are the same. Yes, they will definitely mean different things to different people, but I don't know what they mean to me.

I am very open minded about sex and religion. I believe in freedom of speech. I accept the fact that people have different beliefs, but I do sometimes face difficulties in respecting beliefs which I think are so wrong. Does my not being able to accept the fact that a boy and a girl, if sitting together, are going to be shooed away from the Rose Garden make me less open minded than I think I am? Or my indignation show that I am open minded?

I just read a piece by Dilip D'Souza about being liberal in India, and very honestly, I didn't understand all of it. Yes, I agree that "one of the things about being liberal is that you live your life as you want and leave others to their lives." I'd like to believe I do that, and I think I actually do do that. I don't completely understand the distinctions he's made between conservatives and liberals, and I don't know which 'camp' I belong to.

And since I don't know what exactly open-mindedness or liberalism means to me, I don't know why I want to be part of that camp.

On Much Hated Noise

2007-12-30T01:09:00.001+08:00

I hate Indian weddings (do I mean Hindu weddings?). I sincerely, truly hate them. I hate the loud music that sends everyone who is unfortunate enough to be living in a locality near the source to near insanity, and I hate the fact that weddings are considered a valid reason to block the roads so that a very, very slow-moving procession of dancing revelers can pass.

How can people be so insensitive?? Your/your son’s/your daughter’s wedding is no cause for celebration for people who don’t know you! It is a bloody pain in the ass for those ill-fated souls who are being forced to put their work on hold because of your insanely loud music, and for those poor people stuck behind the baraat while trying to reach their various destinations on time! Besides, the massive loudness of the music is completely unnecessary anyway. If it is loud enough to bother people (i.e. send them out of their minds) who are not in the shamiyana, then it is definitely loud enough to make civilised, normal conversation between the guests in the tent impossible.

I also hate all kinds of loud music played by temples, especially when it starts at bloody 5 o'clock in the morning. Yes, we all understand that you are, for some unfathomable reason, required to wake up at 5am and start pooja, but do you have to force your disciplined habits on everyone withing hearing distance of your loudspeakers?? I don't want to wake up at that profanely early hour! I wish everyone in the world (or at least in places where I am) would refrain from imposing their religious views/cause for celebration on everyone else who has the misfortune to be living near them.

Things I Wish I Could Do

2007-12-27T13:06:00.000+08:00

Play the guitar.
Sing like Kailash Kher
Write songs- really good ones.
Tell funny jokes
On the few occasions that I do manage to think of something funny, not burst out laughing while in the middle of [almost] impressing someone with my wit.

Funny, I thought there'd be more, but I can't think of any right now.

Aside: Why is it that despite amazing leaps and bounds in technology, computers still suck? Or maybe it's just mine. It took 7 minutes to open Microsoft Word and then 9 minutes to close it. And my computer even has a sense of humour.. a very, very bad one. It apparently thinks it's funny to close all my Internet windows (especially if I'm writing or am this close to beating my high score in Snake) and justify it by popping up a message saying "Error Detected".

I don't even have a virus, unless the AVG is also playing a practical joke by hiding the viruses that have infested themselves in my computer.

Late Nights

2007-12-23T20:14:00.000+08:00

What is it about staying up all night that is so exciting? These days, I never sleep before 3am, and I love staying up so late! And it's not like I'm doing anything very special... I either do absolutely nothing online, or talk on the phone for 3 hours like I did the night before last. It's just so much fun. Being able to stay up late (and obviously, wake up even later the next morning) is one of the prime reasons why I'm so glad school is finally over!

Recently Moved

2007-12-23T20:01:00.000+08:00

I just moved to blogger fro journalspace, but I'm not sure whether I'll stay. In any case, I'm putting up the entries I made in JS here.

Attached

2007-12-22T20:13:00.000+08:00

Is being very attached to one person healthy?

I have a friend who I really like. And I think may just like her too much for it o be good for me. We're really good friends, but I think the problem is that here, in Delhi, she is my only close friend. I don't like going to school, or to a party if I know she won't be there, and she is amazing at making a dull day better. But the problem is she's moving to Australia in four months, and we may never meet again. And I don't really believe that you can be good friends with someone who lives so far away... we'll have very different lives, and money matters won't make it possible for us to talk on the phone much.

I don't want to try o back off and lessen the bond, because that will probably hurt more than her moving away. But I know that I am a little too fond of her. The worst thing is, I don't think she likes me as much as I like her. I was just thinking.. is it okay to be very attached to one person? This has happened before to me too, and it has never ended well. I always end up hurting (yes, I know this is very dramatic, but I am listening to the Doors right now, and writing while trying to concentrate on the music is hard).

So, is being very attached to one person healthy?

Civic Sense

2007-12-21T08:11:00.000+08:00

Why is it that thousands of people in India are utterly incapable of having even a minuscule sense of civic duty? This isn't a rhetorical question, I genuinely want to know. I just cannot understand the reason why people here litter all the time, seem completely oblivious to traffic laws, and never ever think about the convenience of others.

I used to think that lack of education was the problem. People aren't educated properly, so they don't understand the significance of civic sense. But I don't think that's the problem anymore. Everyday, in school, I see students throwing empty packets of chips on the roads, and aluminum foil wrappings on the floors of classrooms. And these are students of a school that is regarded as one of the best schools in Delhi. One of my closest friends studies in IIT now, and he too has to be forced to pick up his ice cream stick from where he threw it on the road. So clearly, education is not the problem. Then what is it? Why do people not know that you can't throw your garbage on the roads?

And traffic violations! I know one of the fundamental problems for the utter disregard for traffic laws is the lack of driving tests before granting licenses. Anyone who wants a license can get a license. That explains why so many people insist on going at a speed of 30 km/h in the right-most lane, or treat a traffic light that just turned red as an encouragement to speed up. But it doesn't explain why people enter the left or the right-turning lanes when they they want to go straight, or why they stop at the side of the road at the end of a concert, clearly in everybody's way. Why would people do such things which are very clearly wrong? Why would they think that it is okay to use the wrong side of the road when they want to avoid a U-turn or when their side has traffic??

In Kanpur, the situation was worse. Most intersections didn't even have traffic lights, and now that they have been installed, they may as well not be there for the all the attention that they get from the drivers on the roads. The roads were choked with polythene bags and old newspapers. Delhi is better, I agree. Many people do abide by the traffic laws, and many people do go around holding their trash until they find a dustbin. But in so many people, civic sense just doesn't exist. That is why people people take up two parking spots for one car in a city that never has adequate parking space. That is why my classmates insist on standing at the doorway and talking, so that you are forced to step over all their feet in order to get out. What I don't understand is the reason for this complete non-existence of common sense

My "Social Work"

2007-12-15T20:07:00.000+08:00

The deadlines for my college essays are in a month, and I still have about six essays left. There are least four for which I have absolutely no idea what to write, and I don't like the one I am writing now. It is an essay which asks me to "elaborate on one of my activities". The 'activity' I chose to write about is the little bit of social work that I have done. But while the tiny bit I have done is very important to me, how can I possibly write about it when I know for a fact that what I have done amounts to nothing? I mean, I had a friend who was so socially responsible, she wanted to take up a career in social work. I don't know exactly what she's done as a schoolgirl, but I do know that along with her mother, she has been involved in a lot of community activities, such as teaching. And I had another very socially conscious friend who used to teach Maths and English in a rural school. Both of them really cared for what they did. And... this is hard to express properly... it's making me feel as if whatever I write about what I've done is just so fake.

I have done some "social work". I ran a library for the kids of the domestic workers in my community for a year. Last summer, I taught the girl who works in my house to write, and to do some basic Maths questions. But does it matter? I didn't really make a difference in anyone's life the way Gonu and Anirudh must have. My so-called "social work" had little or no effect on anyone. The essay is supposed to help colleges understand me. Isn't writing an essay that feels so wrong similar to cheating?

Maybe I should just choose another topic for my essay and save all this introspection for a day when I don't have exams in four days and six applications to send out in a month.