Hypocritical Hopefuls

Joy

2010-01-24T05:48:00.004-05:00

I sat in the sun today, after dreary weeks of blinding fog. It was behind the haze that forever shields the skies over this city of 12 million, but it was bright and warm and happy, and I basked in its bridled brilliance.

My feet rested on the balustrade surrounding my balcony, my seat was an old cane stool, and the Killers were singing into my ears. Blonde beer in my left hand, and the incredibly dense Gore Vidal in my right. It was beautiful, and I baked to a cheery apple red. I went in to find the glorious shades I had bought on my last spur-of-the-moment shopping spree with Prarthana, almost 2 years ago, and raided my roommate's closet for sunscreen.

Sunscreen and shades in Delhi in January. In spite of the stickiness of the year old paste and the flatness of my hour old beer, I felt great. Happy, confident independence oozing out of every pore. I'm broke and unsatisfied with my job, but I have my books and my beer and my weekends.

2010-01-16T09:00:00.002-05:00

Overworked and underpaid, with stress lines appearing all over my forehead, my less-than-beauteous face has taken quite a beating. My boss is cold, my colleagues are all shorter than me and don't like to talk, we sit in a room with no natural light, and I drink one cup of bad coffee after the other. I cannot tell you how much I crave the sun and fresh air by the end of the day. This being Delhi, sunlight and fresh air are mythical, and the native looks puzzled when these essentials are even mentioned.

And then there're the people. The annoying Bengali admin woman from Goa (don't ask me how) who thinks I am stupid because I am young, and sends me forms to fill every day for no reason at all. The love she has for paperwork, though? Quadruple it, and you have the love that our Director of Operations feels for the same.

Speaking of which, that is a very lofty title for such a small man. He thinks that since he is 30 years older, and spend 6 years working for the largest environmental advocacy NGO (in an administrative capacity!), and used his Navy career to pay for his education, he is the shit. Every conversation starts with, "When I was at XYZ...". And when he isn't talking about XYZ, it is, "When I was in the Navy...". And, he winks.

Incessantly, he winks. He says, "Definitely, yes, right away", and then winks at you. He says, "In a little bit, in a little bit," and then winks at you. He also repeats almost everything he says twice. It is tiring, really. Getting used to his facial tics, and then ignoring them to get through to the actual meat of the conversation is a long process, and I am not willing to repeat it every time I want my expenses reimbursed.

I want to move back home. I'm sure the people will be as annoying, but at least I'll have the comfort of friends, and the absence of annoying Delhiites.

2009-09-11T16:13:00.001-04:00

I got my first paycheck! It is an actual check as opposed to going directly to my bank account, so there's they added bonus of feeling it and smelling it and shedding tears of joy over it (not really, but you get the point).

In more good news, I will be finally meeting my boss next week, in person! I have never met her before, so this is both exciting (in that I get to put a face to the endless emails) and scary (what if neither of us like each other?). Like family, I didn't get to choose my boss, and the 3 phone conversations I have had with her suggests that I will like her, but who can tell. She sounds a lot like a cousin on the phone, and I am sure that is a good thing, I don't know why.

I like my job. Have I mentioned that before? The demanding nature of it, the scale of ambition, the likelihood that I will mess up the world if I mess up my analysis – it's liable to make me have nightmares (and I have already had very lucid dreams about my job), and yet, I'm enjoying myself. I haven't made excellent friends at work, but there is hope. And where there is hope, there is, I don't know, probability?

A friend of mine has had the most awful accident, and we have all been on tenderhooks. And let me be the first to say - I perform very badly when on tenderhooks. Apart from being just terrible at my job (in spite of the excitement at having a job, and a good one at that), I have been hanging up on my parents, been generally touchy, and have been acting like I had the accident. Anyway, all this means is that I have been milking sympathy. I'm shameless, really. Come, commiserate - I have had a terrible thing happen to me.

I'm moving to Delhi in 2 months. So now, you really do have something to feel sorry about for me.

2009-07-05T16:41:00.003-04:00

"Then all the words will be sprightly, & every sentence a surprise"

Emerson wrote that in his journal entry on Good Writing.

A piece of writing in which all the sentences evoke surprise in you. That sounds joyous to me.

2009-07-04T14:09:00.003-04:00

I miss my friends, and my community. Almost all of them have moved away from New Haven, and as a result, my circle now consists of me and some imaginary people I converse with on a daily basis about life and the quality of happiness.

If you could hear these conversations, you would think I was mad. Well, obviously you would, for the imaginary people exist only in my imagination and you would only be able to hear my side, and not their replies. If you could hear both sides of the conversation, though, you would still think I was insane - we're talking about the quality of happiness. Nothing sounds loopier than me discussing the quality of happiness - it is like reading a Milan Kundera novel with all the third person narrative blacked out. (I am not as intelligent as that sounds - the Milan Kundera reference was obviously just name dropping. I find his works inscrutable - I don't understand them even the third person narrative isn't blacked out. So.)

So no more imaginary friends. I will now talk to my imaginary readers. Have you ever had one of those days when it is so hot, you sit in your thinnest cottons, minimize contact between your body and any other surface, and try to keep the sweat from dripping on your work? I'm having one of those days right now, and this is one thing I have not missed about summer. I love the sun, I love the green trees, I even love the fact that people wear close to no clothes, but I do not like the sweating that comes with summer.

I am currently between jobs, between schools, between lives. There's a definite miasma in the air. Not the kind that causes disease, but the kind that makes me lethargic and bored. So I've been doing a lot of thinking, and quite a bit of writing. I have also been reading through my writing of the past 3 or 4 years, and I've come to realize that it has progressively become stale and uninspired. And it sounds like I have lost my sense of humour about things.

So this is a new start. I will start trying to think more about what I'm writing. I will also try to bring a little more lightness into it - for the past year, at least, I have been incredibly staid and boring. If I become even more boring in the process of trying not to - you, imaginary reader, need to let me know.

2009-07-03T00:55:00.003-04:00

Today's happiness is attributed to Justice Ajit Prakash Shah. Man's got some powerful human rights language up his sleeve.

Check out the full text of the decision here. And then go out and celebrate.

2009-06-28T03:44:00.003-04:00

I am a huge fan of Leonard Cohen. I came upon his work when I was 20, unhappy in college. The first time I heard him, the first song I heard (The Future), I was hooked - it was like dark spicy chocolate and a single malt. His voice still makes my insides quiver and his music is at times heart-wrenching, at times energizing, and at all times, profound.

Most people I know don't know much about him beyond that he was the original genius behind "Hallelujah", which was later immortalized by Jeff Buckley and kd lang. I personally prefer Cohen's version(s). There is more pathos to it, and much more intensity. And of course, Leonard Cohen's incredible,lump-in-throat-inducing voice. Listen to him sing, "Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah", and if you don't have to swallow the lump, there is no hope for you. The idea that a word with a definite religious connotation can be so much more that just that, that it is something that resonates with the soul in the most human of moments, is pure beauty.

There is so much more to Leonard Cohen than Hallelujah. The man makes me want to cry more than should be legal - Hallelujah is one of the most upbeat of his songs I have listened to, in tone, if not tempo. The sheer anger of "First We Take Manhattan", the incredible horror and beauty behind "Dance Me To The End Of Love" (Madeleine Peyroux has a wonderful cover), the snark and criticism of "Democracy", the humour in "Everybody Knows", the darkness of "the Future", indeed, the darkness inherent in all of his songs - he makes the unattractive and sad seem beautiful.

Some of Cohen's poetry leaves a lot to be desired - the rhythm and rhyme often seem contrived and there is an inherent sense of gratification to the ones about sex, almost collegiate in many ways, like we should be standing around a keg. But I have not read anything that tugged at the heartstrings as much as "Waiting for Marianne".

Waiting for Marianne from "Flowers for Hitler"

I have lost a telephone
with your smell in it

I am living beside the radio
all the stations at once
but I pick out a Polish lullaby
I pick it out of the static
it fades I wait I keep the beat
it comes back almost asleep

Did you take the telephone
knowing I'd sniff it immoderately
maybe heat up the plastic
to get all the crumbs of your breath

and if you won't come back
how will you phone to say
you won't come back
so that I could at least argue

2009-06-06T01:51:00.002-04:00

I have good teeth. I should know - they're probably the only parts of me that do not need camouflaging. I have great teeth - they're straight, even, relatively white, and cavity-free. I don't spend much time on my teeth - I brush once a day ritualistically, and twice if I remember and have my toothbrush. I am not one of those people who spend half a day brushing their teeth either - I go once around the front and once around the back, and then rinse. No brushing of each tooth up and down on each side - I'm just a little too lazy for that. No flossing.

I tell you about my teeth because I truly believe they're my best characteristic. The rest of me is a mess. I have great thick hair growing everywhere, my eyes (and vision) are myopic to the point of being blind without glasses, my lips are crooked, my forehead is the size of a cricket field, and my nose is blunt and flat. And that's just my face.

In spite of my obvious shortcomings in the whole looks department, I make friends easily, which leads me to believe my friends are not shallow. Well, to be truthful, some of them are shallow - I prefer to ignore it when I recognise it.

Some of them also lie to me. They tell me I'm pretty, or they tell me I'm a happy person, or they tell me I'm nice. I don't mean to sound like I'm wallowing in self pity - I look nice at times, I am happy at times, and I'm nice to people I like. However, I am never all of these at the same time, and I am never all of these continuously. White lies, for sure, but white lies lull you into complacency.

A little time with my family will obviously cure me of that complacency, and bring me back to the self-loathing person I have always been. But a little time with my family also turns me into an antisocial beast who hides in her room for days to just recalibrate. This often turns my friends away.

Which brings me to the point I want to make, and this may be self-evident, so bear with me - I make friends easily. Keeping them is a whole different scenario.

2009-03-19T07:30:00.002-04:00

my grandmother will not stop talking about marriage. i laughed it off the first couple of times, but it's getting irritating. every minute i'm alone with her, it's marriage, and a family of my own.

i already have a family of my own. don't i? when does my family stop being my family?

2009-03-04T16:31:00.002-05:00

I'm going to India for the second time in less than 3 months.

It irks my conscience a little, especially when i think about all the pollution I'm contributing to the atmosphere.

I'm also not very into the project that we're going to India to work on. I don't think it means much, to the farmers we're studying, or to the industries they sell to.

So. Not much happiness here.

Though I am very very excited about warmth. New England has been so cold, the tip of my nose is a constant blue.

La Vie Boheme

2009-02-03T03:48:00.000-05:00

Someone's asleep in my living room.

Who is this someone, you ask?

He is my roommate's friend. And he's asleep on my couch, in my living room. Why? I have no idea. Maybe he got kicked out of his apartment. Maybe he was just here late and didn't want to walk back home. Maybe he and my roommate got stoned and he didn't remember that he doesn't live here. I only know that I woke up about half an hour ago and went to the bathroom, and on my way, walked in on N sleeping on the couch in a state of dishabille.

He also talks in his sleep. I believe he said something about massaman curry and maid service.

And yesterday, I found a bra strap in the bathroom that wasn't mine. I live with two men, and neither of them are seeing any women at the time, so it begs the question - whose was it?

I feel like I've walked out of my life and walked into a picaresque farce extolling the virtues of a bohemian life.

Tomorrow, I think I'll find the vegetables in the vegetable drawer and the fruits in the fruit drawer.

If that really does happen, I think I will be very very scared.

Can I Cry?

2009-01-27T10:14:00.000-05:00

To continue on my line of posts about double standards and gender equality, here's something that made me mad. (Click on the title to take you to the article)

Bucking tradition has always been a no-no in India, but apparently it's not as bad when men do it. Men in a place that serves alcohol? Oh, but it is men, so society's moral fibre is still intact. Women drinking? By god, we like-minded entitled men should form a mob and stop them by beating them up. And while we're at it, make them dress "decently". We're losing our upper ground on morality when our womenfolk do things that Indian women just shouldn't do. Let us conveniently ignore issues that matter, like female infanticide, mental and sexual abuse and the disenfranchisement of women, but concentrate instead on women who dare ignore centuries of patriarchy and feel secure in the rights they are privilege to by law and by virtue of their humanity.

Renuka Chowdhury calls it Talibanisation. It isn’t, really. It isn’t because of an external culture taking root in India. It is because of Indian men feeling threatened by women who have been raised to think that the sexes are equal. It is because of Indian women who are threatened by and scared of other women who challenge their own perceptions of roles in society. It is the same oppression that we have faced all through history. We are half a billion women oppressed by a seemingly modernizing patriarchal state that still refers to us as chattel. And that's the truth of it.

2009-01-20T16:36:00.001-05:00

I've heard so many stories in the past few weeks about almost-date rapes and encounters of the molesting kind that I've lost all trust in men.

It is sad, and yet, this recent loss of trust only reiterates my belief that you need to constantly be on the lookout for yourself. I don't want to tar all men with the same brush, but when friends of friends, and "friends" themselves act like they have no respect for women, I can't but help but do it.

I remember my grandmother telling me when I was younger that I should "keep my distance" with men. I brushed her off, but it might be necessary for my own sanity to do so. This depresses me no end.

How much more difficult will I be making it for myself on the making friends front? I don't know.

2008-12-17T03:44:00.000-05:00

When I came to grad school, I came thinking we could definitely change the way things were. We'd bring the concentration of carbon dioxide to 350 ppm by 2050, we'd have consensus on the way the developing world should tackle adaptation and development, and all the world would agree to emissions reductions targets, because we all see the urgency of the situation. Complexities would dissolve under the combined efforts of the world's leaders, and we would all drive electric cars.

Now, the only thing I can think is that we're all doomed. My generation will probably not have too many climate change related issues, beyond some percentage points loss in agricultural produce, large scale migration and death, and a few natural disasters. But by 2100, civilization would either be in the last throes of death with civil war and strife the norm, or we would have left the planet looking for greener pastures, a la Star Trek and Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles.

No, I have no hope left in me. We've built so many irreversibilities into the system, and have to work with so much disbelief and corruption that any acceptable solution looks impossible.

Apart from my space colonization fantasies, I also wish we really could built a time machine. Hindsight is always 20/20.

2008-12-07T03:50:00.001-05:00

People don't understand how much I love The West Wing (or, in fact, why). I get a lot of flak for buying a liberal agenda, and feeding the stupidity that is "boring" television. I don't expect you to think the way I do, or enjoy the same things. If everyone liked the things I did, I expect Judies' walnut-chevre panini would be at every free lunch in New Haven, we'd all drink Looza Mango juice with some milk in it, and we'd be suffering from a serious deficit of honey mustard.

But seriously, why would you not understand my reasons for liking The West Wing? It was well cast most of the time, well acted, and for the first three seasons, brilliantly written. It went off the rails a bit in the fourth and fifth seasons, but season seven was pretty good (and, apparently, written by a prophet or soothsayer).

No, I do not "buy a liberal agenda", I support and endorse it wholeheartedly. We should all have a liberal bend in my opinion. And even if I weren't such a cold-blooded, soft-hearted, contradictory leftie, the idea of watching an intelligent show instead of the bs that runs on TV today would never be anathema to me.

Please, don't tell me it's boring. Watching imbeciles objectify women, or destroy any and all emotions we currently feel about violence isn't boring, but it sure is demoralizing. The West Wing wasn't boring, it was human, empathetic, funny, insightful and thought provoking. I'm thankful that I watched The West Wing, not only because it gave me CJ Cregg, Matt Santos and Arnie Vinick, but also because it gave me hope.

Yeah, I used the H word. It gets thrown around a lot these days, but it still packs quite a punch.

2008-11-17T02:54:00.000-05:00

True wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd.

I like Pope. He's a very accessible poet - proven time and again by the fact that he's quoted everywhere without any credit (the quote above is from his Essay on Criticism) - and he made good sense. And he made fun of everyone, so he sounds like my kind of guy.

Anyway, I like that he said what he said about wit, and then went on to be someone who's so widely quoted. Makes him seem almost clairvoyant.

2008-11-06T02:10:00.001-05:00

The beauty of The West Wing, in my opinion, lies in the blatantly engineered moments of hilarity. In spite of the obvious nature of these moments, they make me laugh. The smugness of Jed Bartlett and Josh Lyman may drive me to insanity, but when they make me laugh, I am able to forgive them.

"There, you see how benevolent I can be, when everyone does what I tell them to do."

Speaking of great TV shows, I recently read somewhere that Charon is not really Pluto's moon - they form a binary system, and the centre of gravity is somewhere between the two bodies. This is related to TV shows in my head because I've always wanted to watch a show about an alternate universe where the laws of physics are suspended, and humans live on a binary system, with ferries going between the two planets. I don't know why, but I always thought Northanger Abbey would have been so much better if it had been set in an alternate universe. But then, anything would be an improvement on Northanger Abbey as it remains now.

2008-09-23T22:56:00.000-04:00

I hang out with a bunch of losers. Bunch of losers. Really.

Loosu Penne.

2008-09-23T14:13:00.000-04:00

A part of the verse of this absurd song called "Loosu Penne" is "Yen bedroom fan-num kizhai vanthu ennai ezhuputhey, unna nenaika soluthey".

That loosely translates to "My bedroom fan comes down, wakes me up, and tells me to think of you".

Tell me that's not scary. The personification of the bedroom fan, the poltergeist-ish actions of the bedroom fan, the fact that it speaks.... Brrrr.

I had the best weekend ever. Never have I had so much fun. Well, I may have had so much fun before, but never have expectations been so high and still been exceeded amply.

Fantastic, really.

I am now in love with another of those absurd tamil songs - this one from this brilliant-yet-dumb movie called Chennai 600028. Saroja, Saman Nikalo!

Actually, the only reason I'm loving this song is the first line. Saroja, Saman Nikalo indeed.

2008-09-18T13:59:00.000-04:00

The concept of a rainbow in a sprinkler system is beautiful. You walk across a green lawn, see sprinklers spraying everything in sight, and see the rainbow in the spray. It's pretty, and it's ephemeral, and it makes you smile.

Sometimes, it also makes me see red. Literally, of course, red being one of those colours in the little rainbow, but also figuratively.

It's painful that there is so much inequity - that we can afford to use sprinklers on our lawns every day, while others cannot afford to drink that much water in a week. But does that also mean that those of us who can shouldn't do it? Should we not use sprinklers only because there's tremendous water scarcity elsewhere in the world, even though we ourselves suffer from no such problem?

Should I deprive myself of my luxuries to ease that human guilt of having more than others do? Does that help anything in this situation apart from my own guilt?

Is there a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow? Maybe the ephemeral nature of the rainbow, and happiness I feel is reflected in the fact that the gold is nothing more than a little green man's life savings that vanishes if you turn your back on it.

2008-09-08T21:19:00.001-04:00

I am no one.
I am everyone.
I am the sun, the moon and the stars.
I am the ether and the emptiness of lonely bars.
I am stripe and I am dot.
I am not.
I am hope and I am despair.
I am common and I am rare.
I am the wind and the rain.
I am pain.
I am the happiness of the bird in flight, and I am the despondent neon light.
I am me.

I am.

2008-08-28T20:51:00.000-04:00

"The same policies all over again? I believe in Recycling, but that's ridiculous" - Al Gore at the DNC on McCain's support of Bush's actions.

Of course, when he said "Inconvenient Truths must be Acknowledged," I could swear he winked at the crowd. Talk about product placement.

That man's amazing. He made Obama seem like a gift from god and the second coming of Abraham Lincoln, at the same time.

2008-08-27T23:01:00.001-04:00

The solution is not alternative, renewable energy.

The solution is longer pipes!!! Bless you, Exxon. You have truly opened my eyes.

2008-08-27T22:57:00.000-04:00

When Jumpy Kucinich spoke at the DNC, all I could think was , "Now there's an ad for Glucrack-D."

2008-08-26T11:27:00.000-04:00

Have I ever told you how much I hate the general perception of women in Indian society? It's one of my favourite pet peeves. I'm sure it's not existent only in Indian society, but since that is the one social enclave that I have managed to fully penetrate, that's the only one I can comment on.

According to the stereotype, I'm a bad driver, I am stupider than men, I have no math skills, my only skills are in the kitchen and in bed, and I need to respect the glory that is male, but should never demand respect for myself. If I have premarital sex, I'm a slut. If I am a sister or a mother, I am to be held up on a pedestal, my feet never to touch the earth (or reality). The clothes I wear indicate whether or not I'm asking for it. If I drink, I'm bad. If I am authoritative, I'm just bossy. If I supervise men, I'm a bitch. I can never have platonic male friends because a man and a woman can never be friends. If I lose my temper, I'm too high strung to do my job well. I'm strong enough to carry a baby in my womb, but not strong enough be the sole caregiver for an adopted child. If I have a child without being married, my child is illegitimate. I need to be beautiful, kind, caring, educated, fertile and a good cook, but I should obviously not ever want to work for a living - I can do it out of necessity but never because I want to. A man's career is always more important than a woman's. A woman should learn to compromise, though a man will never need to.

Excuse me while I go gag.

I love my country and all that it stands for, but sometimes, I just hate its people. They trivialise everything that I am, and everything that I want to be.

2008-07-21T18:19:00.001-04:00

I've been accused of ignoring the blog.

Guilty as charged.

Frankly though, I miss it.

I sit in a coffee shop, drink one small coffee, one lemonade and eat one sesame bagel over 3 hours. I talk with friends from all over the world, people I have lived with and people I've never seen. At 8 p.m, I put my loaner laptop into a denim bag, turn my ipod on, and walk a mile to the hole I live in. I watch a couple of episodes of west wing/pride and prejudice/ whatever else has my attention at the moment. I read for about 2 hours. I shower. I wait for my hair to dry. Sleep.

When my evenings become so routine that I can set the time according to my actions, I'm doing something wrong.

I'm moving into my new apartment on Saturday. I'll actually be moving both my stuff and my roommate's, which can tentatively be horrible. But I'm sure things will work out.

I love my new apartment. It's on the second floor of a building on a really quiet street. It has lots of sunlight, and big closets, and a really nice dining room/kitchen, a huge bathroom, and massive storage space in the basement.

I'm going to be living with one of my current roommates (the kenyan) and a new student at my school. I feel a little sad that I won't be living with one of my other roommates , but I'm also looking forward to new experiences. I think.

For the first time, I will be living with 2 men. I don't know if I'm looking forward to it, or if I'm dreading it. It's probably a mix of both. I know Mr Kenya's super clean, and he's a great roommate, but I know nothing about the other guy, apart from the fact that he's from the lone star state, and has been living in Costa Rica for the past few years. And he's as old as CD is. Which isn't old. Just older than me.

But then, who isn't older than me? As the 22 year old in a professional school, I'm nowhere close to the average age. I truly am the youngest person here, and probably will be youngest person here till I graduate. It's not a bad thing to be, up till the time they start talking about work experience and how much they have learned, in retrospect.

And then they say something completely stupid, and I feel good again.

2008-07-20T20:05:00.001-04:00

It's been a long time since I felt like I was home. It's been a long time since I was home. After 7 years of drifting from one house to another, from one relative to the other, from living with family to living alone, I no longer know what "home" is.

I know for a fact that New Haven isn't home - There are not many great memories here, and no persons I recognize as family. It was easier in Madras - the people I lived with were family, or my friends were my family. I use family not meaning that I shared their blood, but meaning that they were my fallback, my support system. Even then, I didn't really share my every feeling or thought with them. They were there when I needed a laugh.

I don't mean to sound like I'm wallowing in the slippery-soft butter that is self-pity. I just feel like I no longer understand what people mean when they talk of home. People say things like home is where your loved ones are, or home is where you felt happiest. I say, bullshit.

If home is where I feel happiest, I belong in a time loop of me reading a great book in a coffee shop overlooking the sea. If home is where my loved ones are - which loved ones - the ones I'm related to or the ones I've picked up over the years of drifting through Madras?

I drift. That's what I do. I don't lay down roots, I don't find a place and make it mine - I move around, making pit stops whenever I'm in need of human company. I don't have a home. And I'm not unhappy about that. How pathetic am I?

I don't know how I feel about this

2008-07-15T20:16:00.000-04:00

One the one hand - I'm glad that the court's made a clear decision on the issue. How do you get independent corroboration about rape, an inherently private crime that is not usually witnessed?

On the other hand - There are so many ways this can be misused.

Spring

2008-04-10T18:41:00.001-04:00

I like spring. Or rather, the concept of spring, for I still haven't experienced it. It's been slowly getting warmer here, and the "first day of spring" is past, but the temperature still loiters between 7-12 degrees celsius.
But as I was saying, I like spring. It seems to have a great effect on the personalities of the people I go to school with. Makes them warm and open, and there is generally less artifice around.
I like that I can sit on the grass with a cup of coffee and still have access to the internet, however tenuous the link.
I like that the birds feel confident enough of the sun to chirp, breaking their 3 month long silence.
I like that people no longer feel the need to smoke to keep the chill away.
I like that the new building next to school has burst out of the ground and is only a few months from completion.
I like that the coats have been shut up with the mothballs, and sweatshirts and tees are the order of the day.
I like that the trees are budding, and the cherry blossoms are out in pastel glory.
I like the squirrels hanging off the thin branches, threatening to fall to the green carpet below.
I like the abundance of Priuses (Prii?) New Haven has accumulated over the year.
I like the look of the brown and red brick buildings in the golden light of the fading sun.
I like that people smile when they pass you by, instead of stuffing their noses in their scarves and scowling.
I especially like the little worms digging up the wet soil around me, threatening to climb onto my dirty jeans.
I like the warmth of the sun on my face, and the chilly bite of the breeze
I like New Haven, finally.

2008-03-17T00:16:00.001-04:00

hawai'i for a week. Beautiful sun. Hot surfer boys. much alcohol, much work. no cell phone. corporate types in aloha print. much fun.

best bits were the ones with hot surfer boys, but as luck would have it, there weren't many of those bits. hawai'i (hava-ee) is a weird mix of strip malls run amok and beautiful beaches and lush hills. many scary stories about the spirits of dead chieftains were told with great relish, and stories about temples broken up to make roads that now count among the most dangerous roads. ghost dogs that lead you to your death and important lunar cycles for ghost sightings. creepy and yet powerful. air force engineers named slick, and beautiful but drugged-looking polynesian women plastered on the sides of buses.

every window in o'ahu is imported from the mainland.

the mystique of the island is unpredictably strong. honolulu is a city like all cities, but the rest of o'ahu is beautiful, sometimes wild, sometimes tame.

now i'm home. won a game of scrabble, ate some peanuts. this is the life. i love spring break.

2008-01-30T23:50:00.000-05:00

been watching thalapathi again. for the millionth time. it's so refreshing to see rajni kanth do justice to his talent. no gimmicks, no hard fake laughter or affected monologues. and shobana's so pretty. there are 3 alpha males in the movie, whihc is a little hard to swallow. there's a little bittersweetness associated with watching rajni and srividya give possibly their best performances till now.

and the music.

i'm going to try to convince my friends to watch some good tamil and hindi movies. the ones they have seen are dil chahta hai and kabhi kushi kabhi ghum. and no one would accuse the latter of being a good movie.

today, i turn 22. it's going to be a good day.

2007-12-29T03:31:00.000-05:00

I'm back home, and frankly, it feels really stupid. I'm home after exactly five months in the big bad world.

I should join a support group- Hi, My name is Tara, and I'm addicted to Madras. I didn't like it at first, and had to take frequent trips home to make it through my first year of high school, but I soon became accustomed to the big small city ways. And then, I found myself enjoying it. And now, I can't spend extended periods of time away from it. It's a narcotic that has the worst withdrawal symptoms. I need help.

Almost everyone has commented on the fact that I'm home so soon, Almonds being the most recent. Yes, I just left. Yes, I'm back. No, I don't have a life. No, I don't know what I'm doing for New Year's Eve (that last bit was for those who were thinking of asking me that question. Don't ask me that question).

The last thing I did before I left the city of NH was to slip on the iced over snow 2 blocks from home, just as I was thinking, "I haven't slipped in the ice yet." Apparently, my past hasn't taught me yet not to tempt providence. Providence got tempted, and apparently, the temptation was too hard to resist. I'm using crutches at the moment. Luck was not being a lady, she was playing hard to please.

All's good in Madras. Just as I expected things to be. Nothing to do, too many people to meet, constantly double booked. Obviously, I don't know how to use a day planner. Obviously, I have never owned a day planner. My mom has failed in her many attempts to turn me into the perfectly coordinated and well brought up daughter she always wanted. It's her fault I still don't know how to make people understand that when I say I'm busy at five p.m, I actually do mean I'm busy at five p.m.

This is a very random post, so I'm going to stop now. It's good to write again. I will try this when I actually have something to say.

2007-12-10T02:06:00.000-05:00

It is amazing how insulated the American beast is from the realities of the world around it. My roommates know a lot about the world - definitely more than the average American, I would assume, given that they're in grad school - but they seem to think so little even about the things happening all over that affects their lives or the policies that their government initiates.

There's a rather gross inequity in the importance we place on internal American politics, and our awareness of their power struggles and how it affects our world, and the importance these people place on the power struggles and paradigm shifts that happen in our countries. I don't like that the president of this country is called the leader of the free world- I think that negates the concept of a "free world". It feels like the people I've met (which is an elite, mostly wealthy/yuppie, well educated, liberal group, and shouldn't be representative of the country) are staunch believers in American exceptionalism, and that seems to have gotten under my skin.

I think I'd have preferred it if the NAM still had some relevance, and if we didn't bow down to the great American God.

2007-12-01T13:55:00.000-05:00

I don't know how you guys do it. I hate adulthood. Paying bills, paying rent, balancing the budget, cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen, working, studying, actually going to classes- I really don't know how I've been coping so far, but surprisingly, I have.

Graduate school is fun, and everyone should definitely try it out. Sell your souls to the devil, go neck deep into debt, sell your body every night, it doesn't really matter. Get to Grad school. It will possibly be the best experience of your lives. If you already have a post graduate degree, do it all over again. Knowledge is never a bad thing, and the process is worth it.

Did that sound convincing? That's my spiel to anyone who asks me how school is. Not that I hate it, it's just been the most gruelling four months of my life. And I've truthfully loved it.

We live on a nice little street that has a great feeling of community. There always are children playing in the little greenspace right across from our house, and at last count, there are 8 dogs on the block we live on. We're one street away from one of the commercial streets in this town, and a mile away from school. The actual walk to school had some of the prettiest pre-fall trees I have seen, though now they're all denuded and grey.

School itself is housed in some of the middle-aged graduate school buildings in this university- they're between 100-50 years old.The school, not the university. The university is 300 odd years old.

I have classes on Mondays and Wednesdays and play at my RA job on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I have the rest of the week off. That works out very well, since I spend Friday lounging around, Saturday socializing and Sunday working my ass off. And I've anyway been working for a day, so there're no Monday morning blues.

Every once in a while, when I get low, I pinch myself and tell myself that I'm in one of the oldest Ivy leagues, and one of the most respected environment schools. And then I'm all ok again. It's amazing what a huge ego can do for your happiness.

There's an amazing sense of history about being here. They have photographs of all the graduating classes, from 1901 to 2007, all along the walls of the main stairway. You can identify current professors, famous academicians and powerful environmentalists as you walk along. They also have traditions, from the technical modules at the beginning of every year, to the holiday party, which is rumoured to be extremely bacchanalian.

I like being here. And as much as I dislike this town and the snotty little undergrads, I think I'll enjoy my remaining three semesters in these hallowed halls. I like that I can say hallowed halls and not snicker afterwards.

2007-07-19T06:27:00.000-04:00

I leave in 4 days. I don't know what'll happen to this blog.

I'm scared. It's scary. It's a different country, a different life, new people, and a shared bathroom.

2007-06-07T11:39:00.000-04:00

Watching Talking Movies on BBC. Kevin Costner is cute, in a non-attractive sort of way. He uses words like sweetheart instead of girlfriend/lover.

My grandmother's having health issues. Nothing serious, but she's tired and depressed all the time. Is this what old age is all about?

I'm home to get my health forms filled out. It's boring. No one's here, there's nothing to do. You know how they say you can never go home again? It's so true. I feel like everything has shrunk in size. My grandmother seems unhealthier, my dog looks thinner, and the house looks different. But for all the growth and development in Ranipet, the landscape loooks the same. The church looks a little different, because of the new building and all, but Scudder Memorial Hospital looks like it used to six years ago- unused.

Patti has a TV in her room now. And is watching some random serial on Sun TV.

You know how all these laptop ads have people balancing their notebooks in unlikely positions and beaming at the camera? I've been experimenting, and they're stupid to even try sitting like that. Why would you spend so much money on a computer and then find ways to make it fall from your extended leg/knee? Idiots.

A Few Hours Later:

My cousin was watching Baasha on TV. I was engrossed, and then he switched it off. Dammit. Rajni Kanth is hypnotizing.

I'm very blunt, apparently. Hmmm.

Met friends from school. One of them's broken his leg. Again. Third time, I think. Another's getting married in 3 weeks, and the third is just getting into a relationship. And it feels like yesterday when they thought girls were dumb (yours truly excluded, of course).

Friday Night TV SUCKS.

2007-05-30T18:50:00.001-04:00

I've always wondered if having nothing to do was as much fun as having to do something you enjoyed. I am pleased to report that it absolutely positively is. I know some of you are going to frown at this and start off on a tangent about how I should do something useful, but before you do, I have to say this. Having nothing to do is great. As long as you still do something. Doing nothing is just stupid. It's not only boring, it's also an incredibly dumbing experience. All the things you thought you were capable of, and all the things you've wished you could do, become dust when you end up doing nothing.

I'm trying painting. I started with watercolours, because I used to be able to paint with them. But a few days of working with them, and I've come to realize that what I did when I was younger was not good, it was just people being kind. So tomorrow, I plan to buy myself a book about how to paint with oils. I assume I will get more fun out of it that the actual painting itself. But I'm going to try.

I like doing things by myself. Learning about something. Reading up on it. Figuring out what it requires. Buying or finding the things that I need to do it. There's more pleasure in the pursuit than in the actual finished product.

I also like doing things at my own pace. Like this story I've been working on for two months now. I've written thirty two pages. I initially wrote twenty, and then didn't write for a week. I then read what I'd written, erased fifteen pages, and started again. After repetitive sessions of playing around with it, I have 32 pages. But I like those 32 pages. One day, they'll become 200, 300, 400, and the characters will reach a pinnacle in their lives, and I'll end it at their high point, or they'll die, and I won't have anything to write about. But I enjoy this process I've built. It's not very efficient, and it's not for those hard workers, but it works for me. I like that the story evolves over a long period of time, and I don't rush it. I like that I give these people space to grow before I come back and define their boundaries.

I know how upset some people get when I refuse to take help from other people, or make it a point to do things my way, at my own time. Amma keeps telling me when I live with someone else, I will have to adapt and live like the other person does. I don't see that as a reason to change. I actually don't find that very rational, but there's no telling her.

Compromise frightens me. It does. If I go to all the trouble to evolve a manner in which to do things and make myself comfortable in that skin, to be asked to change when someone else comes along is anathema. I'm quite the egotist, but I'd rather be that than a hypocrite. I often like who I am. So I assume other crackpots like me will also like me, at times.

Look at me ramble.

I enjoy learning about new things. But I find that that virtue is confined to when I am not forced to learn about them. If someone told me about the special theory of relativity and how it changed the way people thought about the world and their universe, I'd have rushed to a bookstore or the nearest computer to learn more about it. On the other hand, having an uninterested old man muttering to an equally uninterested class tell me because I had to know it to pass my exam would make me ignore it completely. I know, completely perverse of me. But when the person telling me isn't all that excited about it himself, why should I get all excited about learning about it?

Having to do something is not fun. Doing something you want to do, on the other hand, is.

Telling me to grow up is of no use. Grown-ups have no fun. I'd much rather just be me.

Google Maps freaks me out. You can really zoom. Really.

2007-05-13T06:59:00.000-04:00

I love Tea. Good Tea. Masala Chai with overlaying flavours of cardamom, ginger and cloves. Watery Assam with a little milk and a hint of sugar. Earl Grey, strong and black. Orange Pekoe at eight in the morning.

And yes, I spell it with a Capital T.

I first had tea when I sneaked a sip of my aunt's hourly cuppa. I hated it. This was when I was four and and wouldn't even taste anything that didn't look good. I also hated keerai, avarakkai, pumpkin and brinjal. I still hate those things, but I have learnt to love Tea.

For a long time, I refused to drink tea, and killed my taste buds with strong and sweet coffee. I was fifteen when I first had a good cup of tea, and that was because I made it myself. It was a strong Nilgiris, dark and intense, with a hint of milk. I still liked my coffee, but I learnt to appreciate it without sugar and in smaller quantities.

That particular virtue, however, took the back seat when I went to college, for I needed the caffeine to stay awake, and my dealer was a few steps away at the F&H kiosk. I started at two cups of coffee a day, and over the next four years, that daily quota increased to seven.

While I still enjoyed my Teas, and took a particular pleasure in brewing them well, I had to continue the coffee just to stay sharp. Till one day, I just stopped, cold turkey.

For six weeks, I didn't drink any coffee. And when I did, it no longer had a hold on me. I enjoyed it, the rush, the tastes, the intense flavours- but the need had passed. My threshold slowly decreased back to a cup a day, and my interest in Tea grew again.

I love coffee. Strong South Indian Coffee. Kumbakonam Degree. A little chicory in freshly ground beans brightens up my day. But not everyday. It's too rich for that.

I have a favourite. And nothing else can get me out of a funk as well as a mug of Earl Grey, steeped for four and a half minutes in water at 90 degrees C.

And when I finish that mug, I get myself another.

Just because I can.

2007-05-08T06:42:00.000-04:00

i've been pigging out on the family guy and realising how very like peter griffin i am. fat and incredibly stupid. and bored.

i plan to do the no dues thing at college tomorrow. it's going to be such a pain. running around in the sun. not my idea of fun!!!

there's a really strange movie on tv. stealing beauty. i know it's one of those movies by one of those italian directors that i'm suposed to either love or hate, but i'm really very indifferent to it. why do i not react to these strange movies as i'm supposed to? liv tyler is beautiful as is rachel weisz, as is joseph fiennes, and jeremy irons scares me. but that's the extent of emotion that the movie arouses in me.

i want college over and done with. this whole thing is hanging over my head.

is it wrong for me not to enjoy spending time with my classmates? i've spent the past four years with them. isn't that enough?

the artist guy in the movie said "You have a certain joy in your eyes".
gag.

europeans have quite bad taste in cars, if this movie is anything to go by.

"everyone has dark moods". god, this movie is full of bullshit.

lucy in the sky with diamonds is running through my mind. i can't get it out.

himesh reshammiya is hilarious. i have never seen his face. it's always covered with that damn cap. i mean, the only parts i can see are covered with facial hair! i wanna know what he looks like. whether he looks as funny as he sounds.

i had a haircut two days ago. i shouldn't have. it looks quite bad.

this entire post is crap. if i were in my right mind, i would hit ctrl+A and backspace.

this movie. nothing's happening, dammit!

just sent my financial award acceptance letter. what am i getting myself into? selling my soul to the devil.

man, this post makes absolutely no sense at all. excuse me while i go hurt myself really badly.

2007-04-10T15:19:00.000-04:00

My mother's a woman who demands a lot of respect. But she also inspires a lot of eye-rolling.

For instance, when she told me she would be choosing my husband for me, I rolled my eyes and snorted. When she repeated it two months later, I rolled my eyes again and snorted louder. When she repeated it two years later, I rolled my eyes again and snorted even louder. You would think she'd have gotten the point, but no.

On Sunday, she told me again that she'd be finding a guy for me when I turned 24, by which time I had to return to India. This time, I grimaced/grinned, rolled my eyes, raised my eyebrows (to drive the point home, you see), and snorted so loudly, my father heard it in the other room. Not only did I do that, I also said, "Yeah, right," which, while it isn't a very mature thing to say, expressed my emotions perfectly.

But it isn't only when she's talking about marriage that my mother makes me roll my eyes. She also does it when she's talking about my sleep habits, my late nights, my eating habits, my health and my need to read something irrespective of what I'm doing - eating, taking a leak, making tea, cooking, studying or talking to my parents.

Which leads me to believe she got the short straw in the parenting lottery (I know, I'm mixing metaphors here). My father got the worrying about education and jobs and the making money departments, and she got all the rest. I do feel sorry for her.

That doesn't mean I'm going to make things easy for her, though. Or stop rolling my eyes. I'm training her for her grandchildren (none of which will belong to me. So CD, consider yourself warned).

2007-04-10T12:44:00.000-04:00

I went to college today. It felt weird. You know the feeling- when you go back to a place you've grown out of, and don't connect to anything anymore. This friend of mine told me that she would miss it, and I just smiled awkwardly and patted her hand. Talk about faux pas! We still joked about some stuff we were looking forward to, and made small talk, but I didn't feel the depth of emotion that she did. She looked like she'd cry any moment. I just looked around, said it had been a fun four years, and shrugged. Am I insensitive, or what?

Another classmate of mine has been forbidden from leaving the city to continue her studies. Not because they think it'll be unsafe or anything, but because they want her to get married in the next four months. She doesn't want t o, and is talking a professor of ours into letting her do an MS under him. The plan being that she starts studying, and then convinces her parents that she can't quit halfway to do something life altering like getting married. She's so miserable, she doesn't want to go home in the eveningfor fear that they'll bring up the subject.

My mother told me a few times this past month that she would like it if I got married before I left for the US, and I laughed hard and loud in her face. How come other people can't do that?

While I've grown out of the place, I find that I've just now grown into the people. I looked around at my classmates today, and realised that I really liked them. A realisation that comes a little late, at the very end of my time with them, but still, I'm glad I had that moment. I don't like all the 76 of them- there are many people I really dislike, but there's a fraction of them who are sincere and friendly, and I like them. Unlike the girl who told me she'll miss college, I'm not very distressed about the fact that I won't be seeing them much in the years that come, but I'm happy that I met them. Some of them have become good friends of mine, and some of them are people I know will be good, kind and generous human beings, and I find that extremely heartening.

I'm being maudlin. Snap out of it!

2007-03-29T06:35:00.000-04:00

A week or so ago, someone told me about a blog post they'd found that was talking about equality of sexes, and why that's an unreal objective. Later, I found out that the guy who'd written it had taken down that post and had written a different version of the same tripe.

Later, I was reading something on Feministing and that lead me to an article about the Quiverfull movement. It has completely and fully scared the hell out of me.

Quiverfull parents try to have upwards of six children. They home-school their families, attend fundamentalist churches and follow biblical guidelines of male headship--"Father knows best"--and female submissiveness. They refuse any attempt to regulate pregnancy.

Not only do they advocate a throwback to patriarchy, there're obvious hints of racism.

Population is a preoccupation for many Quiverfull believers, who trade statistics on the falling white birthrate in European countries like Germany and France.

Birth control is, obviously, out.

...hearing the theory that birth-control pills are an abortifacient (that hormonal contraception such as the pill can cause the "chemical abortion" of accidentally fertilized eggs). This belief is something the Quiverfull conviction has in common with the larger Christian right, which has recently embraced a radically expanded "prolife" agenda that encompasses not just abortion but birth control and sexual abstinence.

And demanding equal rights is akin to *shudder* treason against God.

Quiverfull began with the publication of Rick and Jan Hess's 1989 book, A Full Quiver: Family Planning and the Lordship of Christ, which argues that God, as the "Great Physician" and sole "Birth Controller," opens and closes the womb on a case-by-case basis. Women's attempts to control their own bodies--the Lord's temple--are a seizure of divine power.

.... "Our bodies are meant to be a living sacrifice," write the Hesses. Or, as Mary Pride, in another of the movement's founding texts, The Way Home: Beyond Feminism, Back to Reality, puts it, "My body is not my own."

And all career women/divorcees/sexually active women/lesbians/gay men are the Antichrist.

...domestic warriors in the battle against what they see as forty years of destruction wrought by women's liberation: contraception, women's careers, abortion, divorce, homosexuality and child abuse, in that order...

Is it just me, or is the world getting stranger by the day?

2007-03-29T05:38:00.000-04:00

Today is a happy day. Paid the cell phone bill, so no more threatening messages about cutting off the service. Had breakfast, after a long time. Baked some butter cookies, topped them with lemon glazing and had them with hot tea and Thomas Friedman's Longitudes and Attitudes. Got so bored, I reread Lee Child's The Enemy and decided to seriously invest in some new books.

The plan is to finish my project today. Some major literature reviewing to be done, along with a little analysis. Not too heavy. And then, I'm done!!!! Have to write my report, though, and I have so much to write about, I don't know how I'll fit everything in a readable 15 pages.

I ordered Tata Sky online three days ago, but I still haven't got the package. Quite pissed.

Air conditioning is brilliant.

The butter cookies taste awesome. The tang of the lemon glazing and the softness of the cookie complement each other to perfection. And the best thing about it was that the whole process of making them took about 30 mins, including baking time and glazing. The lack of eggs makes one experiment with things that one would never even think of otherwise.

2007-03-15T16:30:00.000-04:00

Been gone a long time.

I was watching this show on some news channel about women prioritising work and family, and then read some blog post that metlin and almonds were squabbling on, and that got me thinking.

I have always wondered why women did the stupid things they do. Living with abusive parents or spouses, for example- women do it all the time. I'm not talking about women who don't have the resources or awareness to walk away from that situation, I'm talking about women who do. They get physically and mentally abused, and they find excuses for the abuser, or they don't recognise the abuse.

I know it's more complicated that I make it out to be, and that I probably will never be able to put myself in her shoes, but a basic understanding will do. I want to know. Why does a well-educated and capable woman turn a blind eye to abuse? While she may be able to bear it, doesn't the thought of the abuse leaking over to other interested parties, like her children, make her, even force her to walk away from that situation?

My mother says unless the woman is willing to admit that she is being abused, she cannot walk away or get help. So why is it so tough to recognise the abuse? Everyone around her does- they see the wounds or hear the loud words. Why is it so difficult for a woman to look at herself, see the in-your-face yellow-purple bruise and say thus far and no further?

A non sequitur- I find it ridiculous when people say women are women's own greatest enemies.

More than finding a cure for cancer, or getting clean water to Africa, or making more money than the Sultan of Brunei, I want to help the exploited the best way I can. I don't know what I can do.

If I click once on a button online, I will be admitted to one of the best universities in the Northern Hemisphere. I think I'll wait for a better offer.

My father's back after three weeks of travelling, and I've spoken to him for less than five minutes, totally. I think I'll call him tomorrow.

I have to go to college tomorrow, and talk to my project guide. I think she suspects that I'm playing hookey.

Of Honeymoons and Madmen

2007-02-28T15:42:00.001-05:00

I saw the most mental (if I can use that as an adjective) movie today- Honeymoon Travels Pvt Limited. And when I say mental, I mean loony bin escapees with a superhero fetish. It was highly entertaining, and I loved it. My respect for Boman Irani and K K Menon grows by the day.

Got one admit and four rejects. Wondering if I should be happy or incredibly depressed.

I was loading music on CD's new Ipod today, and this is all I have to say- I WANT!!! I really do. It's so pretty! I want. Meer- do I HAVE to give it to you?

What did mastadons and giant squids do for entertainment?

2007-02-21T03:35:00.000-05:00

The attack of the killer viruses. Sinuses go on the warpath. Woman relinquishes hold on sanity. Writes last will and testament, leaves everything to the man in the moon. Mother celebrates new honorary post as daughter lies listless in unmade bed. Changes nosering to please grandmother. Noone pays attention to ramblings of deranged mind. Dreams of spring beds, soft pillows, wet doggy noses and comfortable underwear. Reads famous scientist's letters and wishes she could write like that. Friend moves out, one last Rajni Kanth movie for old times' sakes. Turns out to be multi starrer- Rajni Kanth, Prabhu, thin, young Khusboo and Suhasini. Laugh non-stop for two hours. Wishes she could find out name of movie. The one in which song- "Thenmadurai Vaigai Nathi"- makes appearance, very much a la yaadon ki baarat.

Get annoying mail from Man on the moon, rejecting all bequests made in will. Rewrite will, beneficiary dog. Tell mother about illness- get screamed at via text message. Go to doc.

Watch Bend it like Beckham, just for kicks. Make fun of dog. Watch bad print of Monster-house. Get creeped out all over again. Read boring book.

Want book suggestions. Nothing heavy. No bios, popular science or dramas. Or Sci-fi. Tired of Lincoln, French, Nehru, Diamond and Feynman. In mood for nonsense. Leave comments.

2007-02-05T15:28:00.000-05:00

I didn't enjoy Guru as much as I though I would.

Not that there's anything wrong with the movie. The technical work is brilliant. The editing is smooth when it needs to be smooth, jerky when it needs to be jerky. The direction is clearly the work of a master craftsman. Rahman has outdone himself with the music - he seems to get better with age. Even his singing voice has improved. Mani Ratnam had squeezed stellar acting from Abishek Bachchan, Madhavan, Vidya Balan and even the previously wooden Aishwarya Rai. And if Mithun Chokraborthy doesn't get an award for this film, then people can't recognise a superb performance even when it slaps them in the face and demands it from them. I have never really appreciated Bappi Lahri, but his song in this movie was incredible, especially when you see the video. And I cannot praise the camera work enough. The gradual but obvious shift in use of techniques was creative genius. The costumes were great. The production was obviously first class.

And yet, I'm not blown away by the movie. The concept of making a crook seem honourable and telling people that it is ok to smuggle and cheat just didn't do it for me. Sure, he's human, and humans make mistakes, but there's no call for him to make a speech about how it was justified and how he is nothing but a poor man from a village who is being given a raw deal by the "Amir Aadmi" and the government. It is even stupider for the judges to listen to the load of crock he's feeding them, and to actually swallow it. Too many things about the manner in which Mani Ratnam had treated the story of Gurukanth Desai made me want to leave the movie halfway.

While it is obvious that MR has tried to tell the story as it happened in real life with Dhirubhai, I wonder why he has tweaked certain parts of the story but has remained true to the truely objectionable things. Making the Wadias/Contractors out to be cruel, power hungry and greedy was just as unnecessary as making Gurubhai out to be a people's hero, a soapbox loving crook who is just trying to live in this unfair world, with these unfair rules and laws about taxes and duties. The part where Guru tells the politician that he has something of his uncle's in custody was really shocking, bringing back memories of the rumours of his dealings with Indira and Rajiv Gandhi. And the five minute speech (oh, sorry, four minutes and thirty seconds) that Bachchan makes at the end of the movie is not only bad rhetoric, it's mostly just stupid.

The manner in which MR has trivialised the wrongs that Guru did, in order to make him a hero, is just not right. Playing to the peanut gallery is something best left to the TRs and the Johars of the movie industry. What's the point of being privy to such a powerful medium if the idea being communicated is flawed?

2007-02-04T00:37:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I felt like typing. I've done a lot of writing, though it's either been in my head or on paper. I don't like keyboads much anymore. Except maybe typewriter keys. They're kinda sexy. But I don't have a typewriter, so this is beside the point.

I've been reading a lot lately. Patrick French, Gore Vidal, William Dalrymple, Lee Child, Matt Ridley, Mark Shand, Ogden Nash, John Galsworthy- And at the end of it all, I sit and wonder why I haven't read any books by women. I tried reading Kiran Desai, but just couldn't.

Anyway. I've recently discovered Gore Vidal. I know, he's too old to be "discovered", but it took me a while. I read Lincoln over two weeks, fell deeply in lust, and have now read Burr and Empire in the span of two more. Am waiting for 1876 and Washington D.C. to come from Ranipet. I haven't had so much fun in a long long time.

I finally went to Kerala last week. The Kottayam District is probably the most beautiful place I have seen. Nothing has come close to it. And there's no other word for it. Beautiful. So much green, so much water, so many different birds. Lying on a hammock for hours together, just lookin at the water, watching the big yellow sun go though a series of colour changes as it sets, trying to identify the different birds as they swooped in and out of the boundaries of vision- it felt like I was in heaven. Not even the bad food could shake my glow.

Thekkady was a disappointment, so less said the better. We had the best Nendaranga and Tapioca chips, though. Freshly fried in coconut oil.

After I got back to Madras, it was my birthday. Felt like I was on a long and extended holiday. There was fun, frolic, dancing and alcohol. I had a great time, though I had some funny experiences. I had lunch with a friend who didn't know that it was my birthday, and I didn't tell her till it was no longer my birthday. I stayed out till 2 a.m on nights when my mother was in town, which has never happened before. I got a new camera, earrings and a funky ring. My mother forgot my birthday. I went to a business meeting, and actually contributed. My father remembered my birthday, and wrote me a very short, very sweet email. I don't know what to be more surprised about- that he remembered or the email. And I cut five different versions of chocolate cake, and gave all of it away.

I baked a spice cake yesterday and made a dark cocolate frosting. It was yummy, and I'm extremely impressed with myself.

Today, I clean my room and hope that everything can be stuffed in my closet and under my bed.

2007-01-22T08:12:00.001-05:00

ApparentlyI should be a Linguistics Major. Engineering and Biology are way down on the list. If I'd only known before I started college!

You scored as Linguistics. You should be a Linguistics major!

Linguistics

100%

Theater

100%

English

92%

Journalism

92%

Sociology

92%

Anthropology

83%

Art

83%

Chemistry

75%

Psychology

67%

Engineering

67%

Philosophy

58%

Mathematics

50%

Biology

50%

Dance

50%

What is your Perfect Major?

2006-12-27T01:04:00.001-05:00

Baby born, finally. Girl. Monkey cute.

2006-12-26T05:56:00.000-05:00

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

For many years, I used to read books that were way above my understanding capabilities and then guess my way through the plotline, the strange phrases and idioms and the new words. I excelled at comprehension via context and muddled my way through hundreds of books.

And then, I grew up and everything started to make sense. Maybe because of the meanings I figured out for myself through trial and error, or because I looked at the language through new eyes. I no longer needed to wrack my brain to figure out what the difference between flammable and inflammable is, and I know what the difference between a phaeton and a curricle is.

So now, when the need to figure things out when I'm busy reading has been drastically reduced, I find myself going out of my way to do exactly that. Google and I are now best of friends, and the amount of time I spend researching the book is often more time that it takes me to actually read it. And I love it. I spent two hours today learning how to tie different tie and cravat knots, and have perfected the various scarf knots. And while dog is still man's best friend, Google comes a close second.

I wish Google had existed when I was still sruggling through John Galsworthy. I would have had so much fun.

2006-12-23T04:09:00.000-05:00

The last few weeks have been pretty good. And pretty busy.

First, a cousin came from Thailand. With two year old niece in tow and -20 day baby in womb. Before you start getting mental images of Rosemary's Baby, the baby is perfectly healthy and ready to be born and greet its impatient aunts. But for some reason known only to itself (which it'll forget before it starts forming words, sadly, so we'll never really get to know), it's taking its own sweet time. So we wait, and spend our time amusing the two year old darling monster, who manages to find exactly the things that you don't want her to find (plug points, chocolate, the TV remote, her ten month old baby cousin's neck), and ignores all the things that you would love for her to play with.

Then, a cousin gave birth in Bombay and flew down to Madras. It's a baby boy, which is rather rare in my family, though he's the second in his generation. So we gather around him and bill and coo, and spend our time amusing his two year old sister, who is, if anything at all, a drama queen.

And then another cousin gave birth in Madras, to a baby girl. Who sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. And feeds. And then sleeps. Her father looks dazed and sufficiently proud and happy, her mother looks tired and she's still not been named. I've taken to calling her Anonymous. Anon, for short. Like that guy who wrote all those poems.

And then my cousin from Singapore landed, via Bombay. He's become so tall and good looking and grown up, my aunts didn't believe it for a long time that he was who he said he was. And my sister said, "When I first saw him at the airport, I didn't recognise him! He's so.... CUTE!" Yes, CD spoke in caps.

He is cute, though. I can't believe it myself. My baby cousin is now a seventeen year old ladykiller. And he has muscle tone. My head is still trying to wrap itself round that fact.

The same day that he came, another cousin landed from Milan. After a lot of hugging and kissing and recrimination and sulking and more hugging, we got back into our normal routine of sympathising with each other's issues with our respective parents. It feels good to have her back in town.

CD came yesterday, and we watched movies with the 17 year old and the Milanese last night. They were all dumb ones, and the mosquitoes were out in full forces, but it was nice to stay up till three in the morning, watching dumb people being feted as heroes to the background score of the rythmic snore of CD's as she dozed on the couch.

And now, because there are too many people in the houses inhabited by the two sides of my family, at Greenways Road and Abiramapuram, I have retreated to my hole in the flat I live in, alone and happy. There's no place like home, especially when it's empty.

Casino Royale

2006-11-24T15:40:00.000-05:00

I had left over pizza for breakfast this morning. At around ten. It was brilliant. Homemade, with mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, capsicums, onions and green chilli, with homemade sauce- tomato, a touch of oregano and basil, garlic, pepper, fresh chilli flakes and cheese. yummy. especially when served cold. (CD- this is for you).

Casino Royale is a James Bond Movie. You need to remember that when you see the movie. There is nothing more important to your understanding and liking the movie than that. It is a James Bond Movie. Perhaps Daniel Craig is not in the same style as previous Bonds, and is certainly not like Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan, the most famous of them. And perhaps his vertically challenged physique and blond looks don't correspond to your idea of Bond. But give the guy some credit. He looks good in a tux, is certainly more fit that Brosnan, and can certainly act better than Moore/Lazenby/Dalton/Brosnan, and yes, even though i shock myself, Connery.
Before you start telling me how much he sucks, please do remember that I saw him in Road to Perdition, Munich and *shudder* Lara Croft, and loved him in atleast two of them. So yeah. I'm prejudiced. I think he's a great actor.

Casino Royale, sadly for a Bond fan like me, has very few gadgets. And no Q. And he drives a Ford in the the beginning. And he actually chases a small time crook, instead of just going after the big guns. But the Bond's on the first leg of his career, so I think we should grant him some leeway there.

And seriously, I didn't like Vesper Lynd. I mean, yeah sure, she was pretty and hot, and she's kinda smart.... but did she have to turn my Bond into a crybaby? I know, I'm supposed to be empathetic and understand that this is where he turns into the cold hearted brute he is, but I can't.

However, I admit, I loved certain parts of the movie. The part where he orders the cocktail at the Casino. The part where he asks the waiter if he looks like he cares whether his martini's shaken or stirred (yes, I've often wondered why he did care, especially after President Bartlet explained to the world that it was a weak drink).[sarcasm] And esecially the part reminiscent of MI3 (yes, i know, quelle horreur!) where she defibrillates him to consciousness.[/sarcasm] Oh man. the drama of it all.

Frankly, I loved the movie. For it is sheer entertainment. The villian who bled from his eyes. The damsel in distress. The hard headed woman with a calculator for a heart. The charmingly suave double agent.The guns, the bombs. The titanium suitcase that has returned to the Bond franchise. And the cards. And no, I'm not being sarcastic.

I know, I'm gushing. But I feel the need to, since the people I went to the movie with hated it.
But I went with the right frame of mind. I knew it was a Bond movie, and I had a yardstick to measure it by. The previous 20.

While nothing comes close to Goldfinger's laser threatening to bifurcate Sean Connery's pretty body, I will say this had its moments. Like the time Bond rises out of the waters in briefs, in the tradition of Honey Rider and Jinx.

2006-11-05T07:53:00.000-05:00

I don't mean to be predictable. I really don't. But I can't help it if I am!!!

I've spent the entire weekend doing everything but work. Why? Because I have to work. Have to. I have a downstream processing exam on monday, and no clue what exactly the paper is on. I mean, of course, I know it's something to do with downstream processing and cell disruption and filtration and centrifuges and big bead mills and settling tanks and a lot of mathematics. Did I mention that I never was very good at remembering huge equations? I'm much much better at making them up as I go on (which explains the rather horrible scores I've been getting).

But I have an exam on Monday, and I need to study. So I'm gonna go pretend that I am studying.

Soemone I met asked me how I ever got any studying done while I lived alone. I told him I gave myself one hour between 12 and 1 a.m to study. Funny thing is, I did the same thing when I was living with family. Apart from my room being a bit messier, my routine hasn't changed at all. It strikes me how sad that is. How pathetic I am.

I'm going to hell.

Oh, update. My hair metamorphosed from reddish purple to a reddish brown. All by the virtue of the water that comes out through the taps.

2006-10-30T11:23:00.000-05:00

I have this salwar that's loose and worn and full of holes. It's extremely thin cotton, and has been washed so many times, it looks grey instead of the original olive green. And I never want to throw it away. Ever. When I wear it, it feels like a cloud. Not one of those dark altostratuses or cumulonimbuses, or even a cirrocumulus. It's a cirrus. A nice, light, high cirrus.

Two years slipped away and I didn't even notice. This is my third year at twentysevenseventyone.blogspot.com.

Hair

2006-10-22T08:55:00.000-04:00

My hair is now a reddish purple colour. Just letting you know.

2006-10-21T04:10:00.000-04:00

In case you are of the opinion only one person in my family is scared of the creepy crawlies, let me correct that. My relationship with insects, arachnids, arthropods and tiny reptiles is not of the kind that has elements of mutual respect and love. Infact, it is quite the opposite.

I hate them. In all the ways that we can hate anything, I hate them. I have for a very long time, but there was no turning back after a certain incident in my very early childhood.

This incident cemented the wall between me and my creepy-crawly nieghbours, and I still shudder when I see them. I must have been around eight, and not having conquered the skills of bladder control, I decided to go to the loo behind the house in ranipet, since I was playing in the back yard. That loo was pretty ancient, and was used, very rarely, by the maid. No one else.

It was an eastern closet, so I had to squat. And as I did, I felt three plump little bodies fall on my neck.

Predictably, I screamed. And predictably, the little lizards ran down my back into my clothes.

I shall not torment you (or myself, more importantly) with the exact moments that followed that scream. It suffices to say that I refused to wear those clothes ever again, my mother, with her bad hip, came running to the back to see what had happened and I never ever went back into that loo.

Ever since I was eight, I've learnt to maintain the distance of six feet between me and any thing that has antennae, six/eight legs, suction cups and stingers. For the past twelve years, the rule has worked for me, and I've managed not to encounter any more of my mortal enemies.

My twelve year run of good luck was halted in its tracks last night.

Last night, as I stood in the kitchen stirring the soup, something ran up my jeans. Inside.

I didn't realise it till something tickled at my inner thigh.

And when I did realise it, I squealed.

I jumped and wiggled, trying to shake it off, but that damn thing held on. I ran to the loo, and removed my jeans, and didn't see anything! I shook myself, my jeans, my tee shirt, and still, nothing.

I did it all again. And a huge roach flew out. FLEW!!! I screamed, loud and proper this time.

I guess this is the omen of good things to come. I hope. Else, I may just have to live in a plasic bubble. This was a little too up close and personal for me to handle in larger amounts.

People I Meet

2006-10-18T15:44:00.000-04:00

The past few months, my social life has been pretty active. In that, I've met a lot of people, laughed at a lot of people, made fun of a lot of people.... you get the idea. A good time was had by all and all that.

There was the really nervous guy with the image problem. Who is going out with one of those people who think I'm a very good friend of theirs (yeah, I know, I'm incredibly callous and insensitive). He knew me for two weeks, decided I was very "nice" and offloaded all his mental baggage on me.... and then didn't talk to me for three months. Not that I'm unhappy about that state of affairs either.

Then there was this group of people who were really close to each other, but kept making me go out with them. They'd have these private jokes and these long private conversations, and I'd sit there like a big sack of potatoes, waiting for someone to clue me in. It was extremely irritating, highly entertaining, and boy, was I happy when they decided I wasn't likely to make their evenings any more interesting and dumped me....

There was the guy who'd been "boyfriend-girlfriend" with my friend way back in school... She was thinking hard about getting back with him (obviously forgetting all the very valid reasons she broke up with him in the first place), and dragged him along where ever we went. The situation hasn't been resolved yet, and now I'm scared he's still going to be around when we take off on our road trip after graduation. God, please, no. If you exist, and if you decide to forgive me for my sins, please do me this favour. Please. One more night with him and his whinnying laugh, and I'll throw up all over his fancy ironed jeans(ugh). [If he or she is reading this- Joking. Obviously. You guys are the best. You're meant to be together. Totally.]

Of course, I could never forget the hilarious Mr S we met one night. From Singapore. Who had a 28 year old daughter who was getting marrried next year. Who thought we were all her age (ouch). Who thought we were "very nice", after five minutes of watching us together. Who wanted to sit with us at our table and talk to us forever and ever and ever in his singapore-tamil accent which we could only just barely decipher. Who kept making inane jokes as we nodded out heads and smiled (pursed our lips) politely. Who kept telling us he wasn't a "womanizer" (shudder).

There was the guy who I'd never met, who messaged me and kept talking about my blog and my "accomplishments". Which freaked me out, because I didn't have any accomplishments (still don't). Who would talk to other people about me, but would never actually have a proper conversation with me. Who still thinks I have accomplished stuff (I don't have the heart or the sort of ego that would let me correct this little bit of misinformation...).

And there was the girl who giggled. She giggled all the time. For the funny stuff, for the serious stuff, for the sad stuff. She giggled so much, I wondered if it was a nervous tic. But no. She just giggles. For everything.

And there was the crazy guy with the sai baba hair. Really crazy (had to be, to have that hair- no, don't tell me I'm being judgmental). Who also inexplicably thinks he is super hot. For some reason, I haven't been able to set him straight. My straight talking rep is taking a beating, I must admit. But I'd hate to burst his bubble- he's so entertainingly oblivious.

There was the friend of the friend, a little neurotic, a little psychotic, a little eccentric and a lot egotistic, whom I really like. He's now a friend. We connect over the neuroses, the psychoses, the idiosyncratic eccentricities and the humungous egos. So I guess all that socialising paid off!

2006-10-07T12:55:00.000-04:00

In all my years of sitting in boring classes with crusty professors, I have heard almost every stupid thing that someone can say to a class. But yesterday's lecture topped the list.

I have heard many people praise this man, call him brilliant, revolutionary, knowledgable and even great. I have had the personal peasure of being called characterless, stupid, forward, lazy and subversive by him, and I probably am all those, just because this brilliant man said so.

This visionary said something to our class of 76; something strong and incendiary; something that could be considered insensitive and provocative, if not downright horrible. This scientist, a father, a husband and a teacher, said to us that we should all seriously consider suicide. His next words were, if one remembers correctly, "If there is a reason to hang yourselves, this is it." He went on to say that if he were us, he would certainly hang himself.

All my grievances about this institution I study in have been about the mediocrity of the lecturers and professors, the lack of infrastructure, the lack of personal freedoms and the general lack of institutional and personal integrity. Given that, it would be hypocritical of me to now call this learned and integritous man, who has devoted his life and career to science, who passionately believes in the triumph of logic over all other beliefs, a monster or to deny him his righteous indignation.

If so, then I am a hypocrite. A man who tells his sudents to commit suicide because they do not know arbitrary information like the protein content of blood is not only an insenstive megalomaniac, I believe he must also be a very crass person.

We students aren't stupid. We don't jump on every idiotic statement a professor makes and blow it up to a blimp the size of the Hindenburg. But this man didn't make a stupid joke. He made an absolute comment, a serious statement about out intellectual capabilities and then linked that comment to an urge to hang ourselves.

If this is the kind of person a great education and a scientific temperament builds, I'm glad I'm aiming for neither. If Dr S believes that ignorance in undergraduate students is punisheable with self-castigation and suicide, one wonders what the penalty for ignorance in a much lauded scientist is. A public execution? A lynching? A Padma Bhushan?

2006-10-01T16:12:00.000-04:00

get your ass off your seat, walk to the nearest theatre/video rental place and buy tickets for/rent dor. it's an awesome movie, and even gul panag's stone-like face will not make me shrug it off. i loved it, seriously. and gul panag will grow 0n you, after a while... in interviews, kukkunoor speaks of the guiding that gul panag (yeah, i like the sound of her name) required, and i must say, if that's the result after the guiding, one can only shudder at what she was like before. towards the end of the movie, she gets much much better, but her dead pan delivery during the comedic AND dramatic scenes makes one want to strap her to a gurney and yell for an infusion of talent. sometimes, the only thing she has going for her is the dimple, and that too wears off quickly.

and while i have to express my dismay at nagesh kukkunoor's m. night shymalan-like habit of playing a cameo in every movie he makes, i must also say that even that couldn't spoilt the movie. shreyas talpade is brilliant in role that is incidental at best. his delivery, his timing and his repertoire of skills are insanely good. his resemblance to ritesh deshmukh, and the memory of deshmukh's own comic talent don't hurt either.

girish karnad is a little wasted in this movie, even though he pulls off the proud rajput patriarch very well. i cannot imagine anyone else in the role now.

the best part of the movie is ayesha takia. she looks barely fourteen, and is perfectly authentic in her widows weeds. the depth of emotion she conveys and the life she breathes into the character are commendable. she takes the naivete and anger and remorse all in her stride.

you just have to see dor. it's really good.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall

2006-09-25T07:21:00.001-04:00

My friend's been living with me for the past six days. We weren't in the nature of best friends, but we were good friends, if you know what I mean... I knew she was fun, funny, intelligent, pretty, ambitious, talented, a little sarcastic and sometimes, a screw ball. She was a friend, I didn't really analyse too much.

But these past six days, living in each other's pockets, they've been absolutely amazing. We spent hours talking into the night, laughing, creating a racket that almost woke the watchman at three a.m.... we've gone shopping for our friends, since it was their birthday on saturday, and ended up visiting almost every clothes store in south Madras (and some central Madras). We realised our tastes matched pretty well, and it was epiphanical when we liked the same pair of shoes.

Then the rest of our friends got free, and we've been busy painting the town red. And things seem to have changed, though in a good way. Though I don't understand the exact mechanism of change, I haven't had this much fun in a long while now.

In other news, I joined a gym today. And it felt AWESOME, especially just after the workout. I know the reasons I felt good, the endorphins and the neuronal triggers, but that doesn't change the fact that it felt good. I can't wait for tomorrow, when I go again. An hour's workout, and I'm already addicted.

We're off to get some dessert now. See you around.

Glass Houses

2006-09-16T09:45:00.000-04:00

Pope Benedict was never known to be moderate in thought, words or action. This is the same leader who said religion and state should not be seperated, and called secularists hypocritical.

Following this, to refuse to call Islam a religion of peace, and to say that Islam is not conducive to democracy seems to indicate that he believes the followers of Islam are all radical fundamentalists.

For someone who banned homosexual men from becoming priests and said africans should not to use condoms to avoid the spread of HIV/AIDS, he's certainly on no moral high ground to talk about the religion of Islam. True, the "evils" of Islam that he talks about and his own controversial acts deal with different parts of human life, but to condemn one and to uphold the other is ridiculous. To call for a reinterpretation of the Koran when he sticks so diligently to the beliefs that contraception is wrong, even in this age of sexually transmitted diseases, and homosexuality is unnatural, when it has been proved that it is not, is in itself a little hypocritical.

The Holy Father should try reading the Old Testament, which Christianity shares with Islam. How can you reinterpret something that tells you to go kill the men and rape the virgins of every land you conquer (Numbers 31)? Or tells you man will be guiltless of iniquity, but woman will bear hers?

The New Testament's Corinthians says "For I verily, as absent in body, but present in spirit, have judged already, as though I were present, concerning him that hath so done this deed..." (5:3) And this is democratic? What of the right to face your accusers?

I am in no way saying the Christian faith is wrong, or that Islam is a paragon of virtues. All I'm trying to say, I guess, is that you shouldn't throw stones in a glass house.

2006-09-14T11:39:00.000-04:00

Is it just me or does Bush Jr. smirk at the end of his every speech, every statement, every single sound byte?

2006-09-13T12:52:00.000-04:00

Charles Dickens started the Tale of Two Cities with possibly the most indecisive statement ever.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Today, I knew exactly what he meant. Today was the best of times, the worst of times, the age of wisdom and foolishness, the epoch of belief and incredulity (if days can be epochs), and all that follows. It was, all in all, a momentous day, but if it weren't for one particular instant, I wouldn't really remember it as clearly as I'm obviously going to remember it for the rest of eternity and beyond.

Let me tell you a little about my day to start with. I woke up, as usual, to an angry alarm and the intense despair of missing the first hour of classes. I rushed to college, paying an exorbitant forty rupees to get there, and quickly got myself the first cup of coffee for the day.

I found out we didn't have a first hour class. Or a second hour class. Or a third hour class. So at eleven twenty, I strolled inside to sit one of the only classes I really enjoy- Genomics and Proteomics. At twelve thirty, I had a pretty good lunch of fried rice for 12 bucks with my juniors, and then pitched an idea for a debate club to my classmates. They were excited about it, so as we sat down for Downstream Processing, I started work on a potential list of debate topics for the first session.

Two hours and many boring, sleepy moments later, I walked out to call Fatty and ask if we were doing anything this evening. He said he'd go to the gym and then give me a call when he was done, so we could all get together and do a movie or get a bite. As I walked home, I realised I had the makings for cheesecake at home, and decided to make dinner and dessert for the five of us.

We burnt popcorn, messed up the cheesecake and made an amazing pasta dinner, and watched the first hour of Pirates of the Carribean, again. The guys went home, and I came to my room, completely exhausted, ready to go to bed. The walk home combined with around five hours of cooking had done me in. I was brushing my hair, ready to go to bed, when I saw it.

M y eyes bugged a bit. I shrieked a bit. And my brush faltered in my hand and fell to the bed. In all my dreams, of all the horrors I had imagined, this was the last of them. I didn't know such a thing could happen to me, and I didn't know it could hapen to me so young. I'm twenty. Not seventy.

I dove in and pulled it a bit. It gleamed in the white light, silver and bright and incredibly ominous.

At this young age, looking out into the future with hope, excitement and apprehension, finding a grey hair, I have found, is exceedingly demoralising. And results in great new experiences.

In other words, I hyperventilated.

2006-09-11T04:48:00.000-04:00

I heard the most fascinating and scary story yesterday. And it's all true.

A person I know is being stalked. And the stalker has been obsessed with him for the past fifteen years. She's written him countless letters, emails, smses, and has turned up on his doorstep seven times in these fifteen years. In that time, he's been through a divorce, a romance and a marriage, and she's always been stalking him. In the four years that he's been married, she's threatened to kill his wife and/or threatened to kill herself. She's in her forties, and has refused every marriage offer that's come her way with this man in mind.

Last month, he filed an FIR with the police, and gave them a detailed account of his relationship with her, and what she's been doing. He's given them prints of the emails she has sent him and the text messages. At every step, he has been met with disbelief and laughter. Noone believes the guy in cases like this, he says. Because we've always lived in a male dominated society where most of the registered misconduct has been on the part of men, we refuse to believe that a woman can stalk, just as we refuse to believe that a woman can sexually harass. He's scared for his wife's safety and the stalker's own mental health, but they say unless he files a case and the court orders the police to investigate, no action will be taken.

And if he files a case with the court, she'll probably be sentenced to imprisonment. And even if she can come out on bail, he thinks that is no way to treat someone who's mentally imbalanced.

If this were a guy who was doing the stalking, he'd have been pulled up in court ten years ago. No one would have been sympathetic about him being a mental case. While one has to appreciate the compassion of the victim, one wonders if he's making the right decision.

The whole issue of a male dominated society being unfair is not just aimed at making women equal partners. It's also a case where society refuses to believe a woman capable of what has traditionally been a man's offense.

Doesn't that scare you at all?

2006-09-09T04:41:00.000-04:00

Something Metlin said made me wonder why I haven't spoken about any books lately. I mean, I have been reading a lot of them, especially since I have exams and I don't like to study during this period, and I should be blogging about them because most of them have been brilliant.

There's been a lot of William Dalrymple in my life lately, ever since I read From the Holy Mountain (I love that book). He's so unlike Paul Theroux or Eric Newby or even Pico Iyer in that his storytelling is much more personal. And he doesn't write about the Middle East or Asia with the obvious bias that most non-native writers show. In fact, sometimes, he isn't afraid to be anti-establishment, which appeals to the rebel in me. And he's not always serious, which is a great relief. While Bill Bryson is still my favourite travel writer, Dalrymple comes a very very close second.

Check out The Age of Kali, At The Court Of the Fish Eyed Goddess, City of Djinns, White Mughals, and In Xanadu.

I've also been rereading Tom Clancy, for no other reason than boredom. And it had been a while since I read them last.

Robert K Tanenbaum's new Butch Karp. Forgot the name. All of his books kinda merge into each other, but I like them. Some more of my Walter Mittyism, I guess. Besides, Lucy Karp is my age. I've been growing up with her.

Yesterday, I finally finished William Shirer's Berlin Diary. This is a diary that he kept when he was correspondent in Europe in the beginning of and during the second world war. I've been reading it on and off for the past few weeks, and I became fascinated with the war all over again. It's a very good account of tensions and emotions inside continental Europe when the war was brewing, and any war enthusiast (or journalism enthusiast) must read it. It's brilliant.

2006-09-03T11:50:00.000-04:00

i saw american history x again. there's a protein engineering test tomorrow that counts for 25% of my grade, but sadly, i couldn't be less bothered.

why do people make movies like kabhi alvida na kehna when they could be making american history x or downfall or good night and good luck?

why have i not stepped out of the house in the past two days?

2006-08-19T14:56:00.000-04:00

For a while now, I have been thinking about the Right to Information Act (as previous blog posts may have indicated). No, what I should say is that I, along with the rest of the country, have been worrying about the Right to Information Act and the proposed amendments.

The day the bill was signed into an Act last year, I wrote a long article expressing happiness and scepticism, and then deleted it, since I was sure the word was getting out without another college student being naive about the whole thing. For almost ten months now, the RTI Act has been in enforcement. And we have been hearing promising, even if not all happy-ending stories about women getting rations at the right time at the right rate, about the transparency of the process of examination paper correction being questioned, about men fighting to find out why they were denied jobs.

And then, our current government proposed amendments. File notings, written by civil servants to their politician friends, are to be exempt from disclosure except in cases of social and developmental issues. So are cabinet notes, even after decisions are made. And the RTI act becomes a useless piece of legislation, not even worth the paper it's printed on. And when this happens, we will all lay down and say sweetly, "Why, sure you can use me as a doormat!! What else am I here to do, but serve at your pleasure?".

And when the Prime Minister of the country, whom I once used to respect tremendously, comes out and says these amendments only strengthen the act, this descends into a complete farce, replete with jesters and court minstrels.

2006-08-19T14:31:00.000-04:00

Everytime I see a police uniform on the roads, I feel a mixture of trust and derision. It seems only right that the two emotions be mutually exclusive, but things don't always seem to work out the way logic dictates they do. I have seen policemen who are helpful, fleet-footed and just as fast with their minds; I have seen policemen who disgrace the uniform they wear. Unfortunately, I have seen more of the latter than the former, and not just because I haven't been around much crime.

Speaking to the young minds of today isn't too encouraging either. A fifteen-year old gleefully confesses to routinely slipping officials bribes to look the other way when he does wrong. A twenty-year old speaks in a tone dripping with scorn and disdain as he relates a tale of how he bypassed the mandatory urine and blood test during his college admission procedure with a fake certificate. An eleven-year old thinks lying is not something reserved for peculiar circumstances- it's a way of life.

It is my belief that the worst thing we do to our citizenry is preach about the honour and pride in being honest, compassionate and incorruptible when they're young, and then expose them to a world in which they learn that it is easier and faster to get ahead by being dishonest, apathetic and amoral. Why wouldn't they think the naysayers are a bunch of idiots who don't live in the real world? Why wouldn't they go a step further and renege on their promises, turn their backs on the innocent and become the plague that you warned them about?

What is the alternative? I don't know. I haven't figured that out yet. But living a life without integrity or trust is not a life I want to live. I want to be able to look at a police uniform and feel only trust. Khaki needs to become a prestigious shade of brown. The white shirts of the politicians need to be a symbol of just governance. Maybe this is an improbable dream, but as long as it is not impossible, I will take hope.

None of us have figured out the alternative to the corrupt world that stares us in the face. But you know what? I don't know about you, but I've not stopped searching for one.

2006-08-05T10:55:00.000-04:00

I don't understand it when people tell me they don't like watching the news. It doesn't make sense at all. Watching the news is like a holy experience to me. Getting to know what people all over the city, all over the country and all around the world are doing, the shenanigans they participate in, the politics, the emotion, the wars, the Franz Ferdinands of our time- how can people possible get bored?

Yesterday, I watched five half hour news cycles on NDTV continuously, to spot differences, to see if they were really "live", to imagine all the chaos and confusion in the news room. And then I switched over to BBC World. And then a bit of CNN. At around three in the morning, I spent a lot of insane moments watching C-Span. While the wasted five hours didn't result in a massive increase of my knowledge in the current affairs, it made me feel really good. Before I had a panic attack over the extent of my strangeness.

The news cycles really are fascinating, though.

2006-07-23T18:20:00.000-04:00

Here in Madras, we have this really weird and stupid and yet appropriate expression for when two people are attracted to each other- "louv is coming".

Today, as I was writing this GMAT practice test, listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, to my horror, I heard them use that same phrase. It was different context and all, but the shock still hasn't faded.

2006-07-22T06:32:00.000-04:00

It's been a weird few weeks. My internal clock seems to have been rewound and set at some other time zone. I go to sleep at five/six/seven in the morning, and irrespective of when I wake up, I go back to sleep only at five/six/seven. Like I said, weird.

College reopened a few weeks ago, and classes started last week, and I've gone only for four days in the past three weeks. It's partially the fault of the sleep deprivation, which makes moving more than a finger at a time seem like more work than lifting a mountain. Which brings me to this rather important question.

How the hell did a pudgy little boy, younger than me (and weighed down with jewelry by all accounts), lift the Govardhan with his little finger?

In any case, it was just a clash of egos between Indra and Krishna, and such a demonstration was hardly necessary. Think of all the animals that were frightened out of their homes and all the animals that must have died of exposure and shock and all the trees that were uprooted and all the erosion that must have happened those seven nights. Damn those gods. They always manage to screw up the world, and then blame it on us humans.

Anyway, the other reason I've not been going to college is pretty simple. It's boring. We have this bong lecturer for neurobiology, and she puts the entire class to sleep. Though she's really excited and really hyper and really really irritating. And there's this old man taking Bioprocess Economics, and he spend two hours telling us why India is losing the battle against politicians and the "brain drain" and the mediocrity of our education and the reason the trade deficit is so high and how this guy he knows in the industry is a real good guy and how our vice chancellor is a politician and how Abdul Kalaam is letting us all down and how his daughter works under the director of IISc and how his son-in-law also works at IISc and how the director of IISc still drives an old Fiat that he bought in the early seventies *taking a deep breath* and how we are all doomed to live in a dying country. This is is all really interesting, but this isn't why I chose the elective!!!

Then there's the man who takes analytical techniques of biotechnology (one of three who'll be taking this particular course for us), and this is the same guy who took immunology for us last year. Mr Man, sadly, hasn't changed a bit.

There're some good things about this new semester. For one, I'm a senior. Actually, I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but I'm going to be optimistic. Two, I have only a year left in this godforsaken place. Three, my classmates don't seem to be grating on my nerves this year!!! I know, it's early days yet, but like I said, I'm going to be optimistic.

And four- I passed Probability and Statistics. If I were of that faith, I would be screaming Halleluia. But I'm not. So I'll just say, YAY!!!!!

So, people. How's your life been looking lately?

2006-07-12T09:45:00.000-04:00

I've been indulging in some Walter Mittyism lately. Lying on my bed/sofa, and dreaming about people I could never be and places I would never go willingly. Everyone should indulge in some of this every once in a while. It feels great to stop living your mundane life and be the first woman in space (Ms Tereshkova? You've been replaced) or the prime minister of the country or the Secretary General of the UN or the female reincarnation of Winston Churchill (less cigars and whisky, of course). Take on the endlessness of space, the challenges of governing, the vagaries of rogue nations or the dictators of the Axis powers.

It's brilliant. You should try it sometime.

2006-07-04T06:06:00.000-04:00

My first impression of Hyderbad was that it was so much like Madras. And then I saw the six malls on the way from the airport to CD's place ten minutes away, and the way people were dressed.

I changed my mind. Hyderabad is nothing like Madras.

2006-06-29T09:33:00.000-04:00

GRE over. So one hurdle past, so many more to go.

It's a decent score, I think. I'm not going to tell you, because some of you don't have to know it. But it's decent. would have liked to do much much much better. ah well.

2006-06-26T04:04:00.000-04:00

I am lost, confused and scared. That's very much the norm, but this time, there's this huge lump in my throat, and I can actually feel my hands shake. This is bad.

In less than a year, I will be obsessing over all the reject letters that came my way, and second-guessing my decision not to sit for campus placements (I walked out of the Wipro thing. Long story). I already feel the pressure- why didn't I sign up for the CAT? Why didn't I work harder for the GRE? Why didn't I slog my ass off for the GMAT? Why didn't I take college seriously? Why did I not chose something that would suit my temperament?

I hate being this person who accedes to whatever her parents tell her to do. I don't have a mind of my own, not where I'm concerned. I have opinions about everything on earth, but I stop short when it touches my personal boundaries. I'm so much more willing to let someone else do the thinking for me. My father wants me to do an MBA. He speaks so passionately of it, I now think that's what I want to do. But I don't know. What do I want to do? I don't know. I just don't know. But I'm still looking at business schools that might just accept me.

I don't want to do something I'll regret for the rest of my life. But I don't know what I won't regret. I'm applying to Cambridge, PennState, Columbia, WisMad, TAMU, Keck and Northwestern, and I'm spending loads of money doing that. But do I want to do an MS in Biotechnology?

The only thing I do know is that I want to travel. I don't even know if I want to study anymore. I'm lost.

My mother told me I just can't work with a company that makes alcohol. My father scoffs about the journalism. Travelling alone is out of the question. But I want to- all of that. Having never ever stood up to either of my parents, I don't know how to start.

Am I being trivial?

2006-06-23T06:30:00.000-04:00

When I read about the experiments that shaped the future of science (and the future of the world) they're always described as "elegant and simple. Note that- elegant and simple. And if something as maverick as scientific experiments and finding out how the world works can be simple, why can't literature?

What's with this constant need to drive your reader to the dictionary?

Why can't everyone write like they do at the Economist? Or like William Dalrymple? Or P D James? Or Pico Iyer? Why can't it be simple, and elegant?

Why can't I write like that?

2006-06-16T12:54:00.000-04:00

I hate my hair.

I do. The hair on my face, the hair on my limbs, the hair all over. But what I hate the most is the hair on my head.

It's frizzy. Always. No amount of oiliness can keep the frizz away. Serum, wax, water, nothing works. Think Tina Turner, add an electric shock, and you'll be close to where I am right now.

It's not curly. Not when I wouldn't mind if it were. It isn't wavy either, when I want it to be. It is never ever straight (except during that god-awful phase when I decided to get it straightened permanently. 'Permanently' lasted six months, itched like hell, and resulted in most of my hair falling out). It persists in doddering between a mix of curly and wavy (my friend called it "cur-vy" as an amalgam of the two), and it drives me mad. Yesterday, when it was tending more towards curly than wavy, I was shocked that my hair hadn't grown at all in the past two months. Today, when it tended towards a cur-vy-ish wavy, I realised I needed a trim desperately.

Ideally, I would be able to get hair that looks the right length when it tends towards curly, and when it is cur-vy and those brilliant hours when it is just wavy. God, that makes no sense. Ideally, I would have better hair.

And then I think of my father and uncle and grandfathers and am just glad that I wasn't born a man this family. Or maybe I rue the fact, since at least then, I wouldn't have this hair to obsess over.

A year ago, My hair and I came to a truce and decided that it would do what it wanted to do, and I would just ignore it. Somewhere along the way, our lines have gotten crossed, and we're back at square one, fighting everyday over who will give up first.

I'm crazy. I'm talking about my hair in the third person.

Help.

2006-06-14T10:55:00.000-04:00

My grandmother used to have a weird habit of keeping goodies locked up in the cupboard, back home in Ranipet. Sure, CD and I were gluttons (especially me- still am). But lock up ant-attracting perishables in a cupboard full of antique (and beautiful) silk sarees? It boggled the mind.

Anything edible that didn't have to be refrigerated was smuggled away and l0cked up along with the money, the silk cottons, the silks and the white blouses (She wears only white blouses. Always has, ever since my grandfather passed away. Weird, yet true). I often wondered if it were a case of kleptomania gone bad, but she'd take the goodies out once in a while to feed her sons and nephews. Even now, in Madras, she keeps the dried fruits and nuts in her cupboard and not in the store cupboard. There isn't as much space here as back home, so the food (thankfully) remains in the closets in the kitchen.

I remember foraging in the meat shelf (you know the kind, with wire mesh doors and deep shelves. We never ever kept meat in it. Our long gone ancestor who was once the head of our religious sect would have turned over in his grave. He was probably cremated and didn't have a grave, but lets not go there) for the rusk we supposedly kept to feed the dog, when I was
younger and perpetually hungry. I often did find some, and a little ketchup would mask the taste of burnt dough. I still shudder when I taste ketchup.

Anyway, the reason for this ramble is this. The day before, when I wrot about the heavenly shrikand, a friend of mine wanted some. So I rushed down to see if there was any left, and the tall eversilver vessel it was in was missing from the freezer. So I assumed my uncle had polished it off, and told her not to come.

This morning (ok, fine, afternoon) when I woke up, my grandmother told me there was a cup of shrikand she'd saved for one of her sons, in case they wanted some more, in the upstairs fridge (which noone uses).

Some things never change.

2006-06-12T10:40:00.000-04:00

I've wanted to do so many things. See Goa and Rajasthan. See Khajuraho. Visit the Scottish Highlands' finest distilleries. Buy a crate of Drambuie. Go to Chichen Itza, Ollantaytambo, Karnak, Mohenjodaro, Ankor Vat and all those places I've dreamt about. Meet Dubya (for my entertainment pleasure). Buy land in New Zealand. Sue D Vishwanathan on grounds of torture and impinging on my fundamental rights. So many things would give me deep and lasting happiness.

But nothing, nothing at all could rival the intense sense of bliss and contentment I get from a mouthful of my grandmother's Shrikand.

Thick creamy curd with just the right amount of sweetening, a handful of broken almonds, pistachios and cashewnuts, the odd raisin, and the rich and yet mild flavour of the saffron, blended into the shrikand to the exact extent needed, served ice cold with hot, puffed, melt-in-your-mouth golden puris.

And now, I never want to leave home.

2006-06-07T01:04:00.000-04:00

You know what? I'm going to call a strike against all those movies that make fun of iyers and iyengars, starting with..... I know, Padosan, way back in the sixties. How dare Mehmood do that to our collective psyche? Freedom of expression, you say? Well... ok, back in the sixties, I guess there was a great deal of that going around. Freedom of Expression, I mean. But the newer movies, like Saamy - I'm going to get them banned. They offend my sentiments, even if I'm a not-quite-practising iyengar.

If all it takes is a few rabble-rousing conformists to ban movies in so many states, it doesn't look so tough. I can do that! Next time I see a movie that could possibly, even remotely offend my sentiments, I guess I'll be up in arms. All you Tamil Movie Producers, watch out. I'm a woman on a mission.

OK, the woman on a mission bit cracked me up a bit.

Seriously though. What's their argument? Lolita would make middle aged men fall in love with their step-daughters? Fire would make all women lesbian? (Bal Thackeray certainly thought so- he has been quoted as having said "Fire may have received 14 international awards but will anyone deliberate on the harm these people are doing by ushering in a wretched culture?" emphasis added) Water would actually let people know what widows went through? Final Solution would MAKE hindus and muslims fight? The Da Vinci Code would make all practising Christians doubt their faith?

Or do they just like knowing that the piracy trade is flourishing?

2006-06-03T06:58:00.001-04:00

i'm baaaaaaack!

and i have the sniffles.

more later.

2006-05-22T11:54:00.000-04:00

The plan was simple. Go to college, grit your teeth through the requisite four years, and go far far way and do something you really want to do.

The plan, obviously, isn't working. I just cannot figure out what it is I really want to do. There are just too many options. And an antsy father blocking your every thought doesn't help.

Anyway, that's not my crib for the day. The crib for the day is the 93^rd amendment to the constitution, which grants the government the right to interfere in admission criteria of private, unaided educational institutions, and enforce reservations for minorities in all schools. Especially if the schools are owned/run by the 'majority'. Smacks of racism and eugenics to me.

So this is their plan. Instead of upgrading public schools, developing better syllabi and hiring better and more teachers and spending more money on primary education, they're going to make private schools bear the burden. Great going, I must say. These people are supposed to set examples for the country, and the best they can do is shirk responsibility? Why have government schools in the first place?

I do have a few doubts though. Isn't the premise of this bill unconstitutional, since it denies the principle of voluntary association? Is that even in the constitution? What about privacy? Autonomy?

2006-05-16T09:43:00.000-04:00

Delhi is filled with maniac drivers. Or bloodthirsty drivers. And all of them have really good pickup. The moment you start to cross the road, they rev up and come at you at the speed of light. 0 to 3000 kms/ sec in two seconds. I swear.

So it seems like there are only two ways to cross the road. Option A- close your eyes really really tightly, stuff your ears with cotton wool and walk across as fast as you can. If your brain hasn't exploded at the shock of a few tons ramming into you at high speed, and you haven't sprayed all five litres of blood on to the melting tar, then you'll find yourself on the other side of the road. Option B- Teleportation. Beam me up, Scotty. Either option guarantees a high possibillity of fragmentation. That would be Option C, where the necessity of crossing the road is voided since you're dead.

______

Every day, I listen to exactly one and half songs as I come back from office. At this rate, i'll have to be in Delhi for 244 days to listen to all the songs on my player. I miss my music.

______

My GRE is in a month. I have to study. I can't bring myself to. HELP!!!!

2006-05-15T10:23:00.000-04:00

If you think I'm being highly rude not replying to comments- I can't sign in to blogger. I promise I'll reply once I get to Madras.

2006-05-15T10:21:00.000-04:00

Today was interesting.

Today was also shocking. Adultery is a crime, Child Marriage is not illegal and Indian law is highly outdated.

No, I'm not joking. Adultery is a crime. I was just coming to terms with the fact that homosexuality is a crime in India, and then they throw this at me. While the woman cannot be prosecuted for it, the other man can. And if it's the man who's cheating, the wife cannot accuse the other woman. It reeks.

The reasons I think it reeks are two-fold.

For one, the law-makers seem to believe that the sanctity of "the family" directly extends to the relationship between man and wife (I say this because this is the explanation that a law student gave me). At what cost, I ask. Divorce is tough to get, expensive to try for, and takes a very long time to go through. And the same legal system says adultery is a crime. It seems to give either person in a marriage limited options if they want to get out. The social stigma of either option is tough enough to handle as it is, and making both options almost inaccessible seems to me the mark of great intolerance. The law is telling you you can't afford to make a mistake.

Secondly, it seems to cast the role of a woman as chattel. It objectifies the woman and makes her the husband's property. She is not to blame for her action, but the husband can accuse the other man since he had an affair with her. The law seems to view them as man and wife and not husband and wife.

I'm shocked and sad. A country that finally decides to give a woman equal share in family property, after so many years, also thinks that she isn't capable of making decisions about her own life. It is hypocrisy, and there's no two ways about it.

2006-05-14T11:39:00.000-04:00

sunday, traditionally, is a day on which i wake up sometime between ten and twelve, eat junk at three and call it lunch, go out for dinner around seven, get home by ten thirty and crash at two.

last sunday, i slept for exactly two and a half hours, woke up at an insane hour and caught a flight to delhi. consequently, the rest of the day's schedule was out of whack.

this sunday is weirder. i woke up at eight, since a certain person who's reading this thought i would be awake at such unearthly hours and called me. i travelled an entire hour to get to a book shop. i travelled back that distance and more to meet that same certain someone (whom i've never met before, by the way. what was i thinking? obviously not along the lines of a. axe murderer, b. serial killer or c.Armin Meiwes. idiot sophist.) for lunch.

since my corporeal self is still very much intact, obviously he didn't turn out to be a, b or c. lucky me.

i spent three and a half hours with the non-serial killer, in hot-hot-hot delhi, and travelled back the hour's distance to the place i call home- the residence of someone who, prior to this trip, i have never met.

my life is like a science fiction book. gah.

not that i'm complaining much. i had fun today.

i just realised that men in delhi think they're super hot. they aren't. they're just super lame. at least six ambitious lotharios grinned at me and slicked their hair down/wiggled their brows as i travelled back home. they were all oily and very very gross looking.

why me.

2006-05-10T12:28:00.000-04:00

yay! it works!

so, today, i finished a thousand word article that iI've been working on for the past three days. the sense of satisfaction is awesome, even though i haven't really done anyting.

the internet where i'm staying is highly temperamental. every two mins, it cuts me off. and it come back after five. gah. have been tryign to figure out what the problem is, but i'm not exactly great around computers.

i met the rest of the interns at the firm, and they're ALL bihari. actually, no, one of them is rajasthani. but still. crazy.

the lawyers themselves, however, are all tamil. there are some northies, obviously, but predominantly, yeah, tamil. it's weird to hear all this brahmin tamil in delhi.

my works pretty decent and interesting. so no complaints.

delhi is hot!! well, now it isn't as hot as it was a day ago, but still, it's hot!

oh, today was hilarious. basically, first day or work, they gave me a list of workplace rules that i'd have to follow, like you hvae to come to work in formal clothes, no jeans or t shirts, and your footwear also has to be formal, and you can't take leave during the course of your training, and you can't use the computer for personal stuff and things like that. the part about the formal clothes and shoes was in bold, and even the HR lady told me they were very strict about it.

it was nine forty, and i had to walk to the gate, find an auto to take me to work and get there ten minutes ago, so i was in this big hurry.

so i walked and walked and walked, stood on the road, searching for an empty auto. it looked like they were an extinct species, and i was just about to walk the kilometer to the bus stop when an auto rolled up, empty. heaving a huge sigh, i ask him to take me to safdarjung enclave, near the ncc grounds and lean back in the seat, twiddling my fingers. not that we have a specific time to report to work and all, but still, i didnt want to be late third day of work! i have another month to show them what i'm REALLY like.

so i get off at the office building, pay him and walk up to the gate. something irritates my heel, so i bend down to remove the offending stone and i see...... my house slippers.

i spent the day hiding my feet under the desk in my cubicle, hoping and praying none of those uppity lawyers would notice.

consequently, i spent the whole day giggling.

2006-05-10T11:44:00.000-04:00

bobby- yeah man. you're so cool. you're the best. whatever. not forgiving you. and that bottle of tequila better be there when i get back!!!

i apparently can't open blogger from here. no idea why, because i could do it when i landed. :(

in any case, will see if my mail-in option works. otherwise, i'll see you guys in a month.

2006-05-07T02:58:00.000-04:00

Puffy eyes, burning slightly, cotton wool in the mouth and wild hair. In a country where even the most blase dress well when they're flying, I'm probably a rare bird.

A word of advice. Don't have three shots of tequila anbd a glass of wine three hours before you leave to the airport. Don't. Resist the temptation. It's not worth it.

Bobby, as mentioned earlier, visited at one in the morning. My watchman probably thought we were sneaking away for a quickie. We stayed up drinking tequila (the kind that's made in pondy, 67% prooff, 35% v/v) and talking till two. he wanted to stay and see me off, but I kicked him out.

I'm a little hazy about what we spoke in that one hour, but I remember clearly that we finished about a quarter of the bottle. Three shots and a glass of bad red wine later, I was all giggly and sufferring from a bad case of oral diarrhea. Apparently, I'm very friendly when I'm slightly high. Great.

I set my alarm for four thirty, woke up at four fifty, to a mild headache and very mild nausea. Fair enough.

An hour and a half later, I'm sitting in the lounge at the airport and cursing the fact that I went to German classes at Max Mueller Bhavan and met the idiot. Eyes burn with no sleep, head aches and coffee turns my stomach! I am in hell.

As i write this, I am sitting in the worst seat on the plane, last row, right in front of the loo, having finished (or tried to finish) the worst meal ever. Either Jet has changed its caterers, or Taj has just lost its grip on what qualifies as food. On top of that, there's turbulence, and my ever present motion-sickness. Add a hangover to the pic, and there you have a perfect sunday morning.

The only relief is a cute steward/airhost/what-are-they-calling-themselves-these-days. He's half my size and has a strong punjabi accent though. And he's a little too pretty.

Heh. I've such high standards.

2006-05-06T15:35:00.000-04:00

Bobby is an Idiot.

He is an idiot for innumerous reasons.

He's an idiot because he still thinks cigarettes are cool, even after the big statuory warning on the packs.

He's an idiot, because he buys bikes like they're candy.

He's an idiot, because a few months ago, he and the Bitch (another idiot) parked outside my house, in a big white pimp-mobile, and made a lot of noise- ten feet away from a big, official looking police van. At twelve twenty in the morning. He was a little drunk, though he'll always deny it.

He's an idiot, because he wakes me up at one in the morning, three hours before I need to wake up to get ready for my flight to Delhi.

He wakes me up at one, on a night I'm particularly tired and sleepy.

He wants to ply me with alcohol. Tequila, to be exact. He's coming over.

He is an idiot. No doubt about it.

And I'm worse, because I actually wake up for him. UGH!

Later: it was fun!

2006-05-06T12:18:00.000-04:00

It was a short and very interesting detour. But I'm back.

I'm off to Delhi tomorrow. Be good, People! Be back soon.

2006-05-06T12:17:00.000-04:00

I'm back.

2006-04-20T04:14:00.000-04:00

i'm at hackneyedperceptions.blogspot.com. i'm not coming back here.

i still hate blogger, though.

I suck at Goodbyes. And Hellos. And the Inbetweens.

2006-04-19T13:27:00.000-04:00

Two and a half years of blogging.

As some guy said, stick a fork in me. I'm done.

I'll still write, but not in this forum.

That's the idea for now, though I'll probably be back tomorrow to crib about my Immunology exam. We'll see how things go.

I'm off to find a life.

I'll still be available at thegrandsophist@gmail.com, if you're dying to talk to me. Talk to me... I'll have to surely grow out of my anti-social tendencies some time!

Goodbye all. It's been great. Blogger has sucked from time to time (to time), but this has been a great vent.

2006-04-18T09:54:00.000-04:00

So. That's two exams over and done with, six more to go. One tomorrow, for which I have not studied at all. Don't plan to either. I want my sleep.
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Was thinking about this new wave of political awareness. People who've scoffed at the very idea of voting in the local election come and ask me how I'm voting. They want to have conversations with me about who'll win, who's better, which former jailbird's going to hell, why idealists like some new parties will never work and who's gonna be eating their hat very soon, yada yada yada. It's kinda weird, because it is not only people whom I know, but also people I've never spoken to in my entire life!

Besides, it puts me on a spot. I haven't really decided whom to vote for.
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I just realised I wouldn't be in Madras for the elections! I'll be starting work in Delhi! NO! I wanna vote!!!! once I eventually figure out the least harmful of the lot who're standing in my constituency. I WANT TO VOTE! Not Fair. *sniff*
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Have been redoing Terry Pratchett online. Found 28 of the 34 at fictionbook.ru. Fun, but reading off the monitor gets pretty boring after a point.
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I really want to vote.
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So much for rebellion. Gonna go study.

Eat, drink...

2006-04-16T07:36:00.000-04:00

...and be merry, for tomorrow we'll die.

2006-04-10T12:33:00.000-04:00

This evening, I heard a man speak about building his company from scratch, about meeting with condescension and rejection from leaders and industry giants from all over the world, and about overcoming his family's vociferous objections to work towards fulfilling his calling.

He is a Founding Director and CEO of a multinational company, working out of fourteen countries, employing a thousand people. They're to branch out into Pakistan and Africa soon. They offer Web, Software, Mobile and Networking solutions.

Suhas Gopinath is twenty. At 14, he started Globals Inc. And his life's story is nothing short of inspiration.

And I'm twenty.

I feel inadequate.

2006-04-09T03:30:00.000-04:00

Phone conversations are an art form.

My father's, especially. They start off rather abruptly, and with a touch of mystery. They go on to evolve into completely incomprehensible words strung together, and end abruptly again, in half syllable. The mystery comes from the fact that he never introduces himself on the phone- you're just supposed to know who he is, even if this is the first time you're speaking to him. The imcomprehensibility is pretty much rote for those of us who know him, and the abruptness is expected from him. And yet, he manages to do so much on the phone, keeping conversations down to even split seconds in duration. The past fifty years have just been a training ground for today, when he exhibits all his skills with an insouciant attitude, and a great deal of artistic license. Seriously, he should take classes. Phone Acrobatics, a hundred bucks an hour.

2006-03-31T09:43:00.000-05:00

Oftentimes, someone in the previous generation (mostly my father) tells me how aimless and boring my generation is.

He has a point. In his youth, he had the Cold War, Rock and Roll, Jawaharlal Nehru's rabid socialism, the subversion of the sixties, Elvis, three Indo-Pakistani wars, a Sino-Indian war, Vietnam, feminism, Woodstock, Sean Connery as James Bond, the Star Wars (the movies and the wars), disco music, Watergate, the Munich Olympics, Emergency and Indira Gandhi, and the Rubik's Cube. His first thirty-odd years were packed with demonstrations and new schools of thought and a general feeling of rebellion.

The point is not whether or not the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties were brimming with change and big events. The point is, so many of his generaton actually participated in the change-making process. We have had our quota of wars and scares and controversial people- we just haven't made as much noise about it as they did...

Or have we? The only things I remember making a noise about are George W's reelection, the "war against terror", the Kyoto protocol (and america not signing it), the tsunami which rocked our world and D Vishwanathan's abrupt rise to absolute power.

Are we being complaisant about The Man?

Are we the changelings?