Little Packets Of Old Emotion

I found this shelved somewhere in the cobwebbed corners of my harddrive. It took me back a year in time. So much has changed since then. And yet as I read these two hurriedly scribbled bits, I recollect exactly how I felt when I wrote this... I have no names for these little packets of old emotion. Whoever imagined they'd stay so fresh.

Anyway, I felt like putting something up.. So here it is..


So he came for me, we had our laughs
And then, it got dark, it was time to go
So I watched, as slowly, his silhouette faded.

The bitter taste of resentment lingers.
-------------

That's where that train of thought ended... In retrospect, I can see they were my efforts at being cynical and nonchalant..

--------------

The world I used to know,
My haven...My little corner
The one you found me in...
The one you made me emerge from..

Disappeared...

My world became you..
The centre and the focus
My escape, my comfort,
My refuge from reality

So,nightly, I climbed my faraway tree
and met you, my moonface, on top
we climbed together the ladder
to reach our enchanted world.

It was Shortlived.
You realised we did'nt belong .

But I had already plunged
Right in..Into the sea of delusion
Convinced of everything "us"

But , eventually, time’s current
Dragged me back..
Onto the shores of reality

Catharsis.

I've caught myself on more than a couple of occasions in the last few months. Typically, i'm talking to one of the four close friends I made at school. My "Best Friends". (That term seems almost antiquated as you grow older.) Or, i'm chattering away in this completely at-ease kind of way about absolutely nothing at all , in the way that I can only do around them. And then I find myself tuning out a little - i'm hearing their voice but only listening to them at some superficial level. One part of me is preoccupied with looking at the way I am with them and how different things are with everyone else. And that's only the beginning of the thought train.

Considering that I share such different relationships with the four of them , it seems almost strange that I find almost the same pattern of thought coursing through my mind , irrespective of which of them i'm speaking to. I believe, this whole thing in my head has happened enough for me to notice that it has a set pattern. And it bothers me no end even as I'm engaged in thinking it.

This introspective, behavioural self-analysis or whatever , definitely comes between having a proper conversation as one would imagine. But then again it usually begins when the tiny , but noticeable silences begin to creep in. The realisation, that the silences are comfortable, I simply don't feel the need to say anything particularly intelligent or put on that (somewhat more) mature mask that I keep in the jar by the door (Yes - like eleanor rigby), always makes me smile contentedly.

Often times , the conversation is about something we have talked about a million times - the most boring , inane bit of conversation you ever heard and though I might be a trifle bored, or for that matter, very, very bored , it's still alright. Because these kind of conversations, if nothing else, reinforce the fact that there are still some relationships that exist despite the fact that you are telling the same joke for the twentieth time or are cribbing rather more childishly than usual.

That's not to say that we don't still have wonderful conversations, but what with us doing very different things and having very different interests and not as much time anymore - it does'nt happen quite as often as I thought I might have liked. And yet, that is when I feel vastly lucky. With idiosyncrasies by the dozen, mood swings and eccentricities , i'm quite aware - it can't be easy being one of my friends. Infinite patience is obviously one trait they all share and perhaps a sense of humour- they must, for being able to live with all the ridiculous things I can come up with. But this makes me wonder, about why and how friendships like these last , when all they have holding them in place is , perhaps, a long thread of time...

Funnily enough, so far , all of these thoughts are dispassionate. Not tainted with the faintest bit of emotion. Mere reflections on what is. But here is where the dispassion ends. And in it's wake, hits the realisation that, very soon , I lose my friends to the US of A. All four of them. At one stroke. And for a couple of moments, till I force myself to snap out of it, I'm almost steeped in despair.

I have no regrets about not getting there myself. I still could (and maybe still will ) end up there. But that does'nt decrease the sadness that , when they move , it will be a struggle to keep the friendship alive. Crazy work schedules , tight budgets , new friends and a different environment will ensure that there is a considerable degree of estrangement.

Conversations will be about catching up and not about keeping abreast. They will contain lots of "Remember how.." and "When I was in madras.." kind of phrases. Sure , I know change is inevitable and it need'nt necessarily be quite as bad as I imagine it now, there IS always email, cell phones and skype.

As I reach this point in thought (and I do so with unfailing regularity) , mid-conversation I want to stop and say something about what's on my mind. But the words won't come. Reassurance , however much I seem to need it , I am too proud to ask for... Even with them...

All of a sudden , I'm disgusted , for allowing myself to be carried away to this particular island of a thought... A place, in my mind, where I am completely marooned from any rationality.

So, on one hand , I want to be told that these relationships will last and that the people I am most myself with will always be the people I can be the most myself with . While on the other hand, I know damn well that it never can , in the way that I want it to and even expecting any such thing is a recipe for a lot of unhappiness and disappointment.

And so it ends with me firmly telling myself that this is an absolutely pointless stream of thought, thinking about what might or might'nt happen a year hence- an indulgence , egged on by some vague(or not) sense of insecurity , something I definitely should'nt dignify with too much time.

Then I hit upon the capital scheme(or not so capital , perhaps... but nevertheless..): Write. In the hope that, perhaps, expressing these sentiments will put their ghosts to rest...

I Chanced Upon A Transfiguration...

Discovering music is one of my favourite pastimes. And I love playing paleontologist most of all - Resurrecting long forgotten music while browsing through the dusty, long untouched shelves of tapes and Cds that belong to my parents - The preoccupation of choice for many a lazy afternoon. For the most part my parents taste is mainstream- for their own time , I mean. But every now and then , looking through their stuff , I'm caught unawares by something delightfully different.

Recently, however ,as I was sifting through some old CDs,I found it was'nt even the music that held my attention.

I happened to find this CD by a chap called Leonard Cohen. Now I have heard of him but never listened to his music so I sat myself down to soak in a different sound. (I'd heard it described as "Different".) And true to reputation it was (or atleast , so I found) . His music... Well, it is weird. I shall reserve further comments on it and say only that I think it's different. Anyway, the point of this post is about what I found as I was looking at the jacket.

On the inside of it were the following words printed in a scrawl :

Transfiguration . That's what occurred the night of 13th December. Since then I am not just a human being. I am inhabited by god & love bleeds and burns within me, but what caused the transfiguration was the mad mystic hammering of your body upon my body.Your soul entered mine then and some union took place that almost killed me with its INTENSITY. I cannot justify my outrageous claims I can only relate what happened before. The fire burns me but ...

The notes break off, followed by "This writing is from the work of Daphne Richardson (1939-1972)".

For some reason , I love these lines and they have struck such a chord in me. Subsequent to reading this , after much much mulling on the perfectness and beauty of even the sound of these words spoken aloud ,I found my attention shifting to it's author. I was bubbling over with curiosity as to who this Daphne Richardson was. A Google search later I found extracts from an interview with Cohen...

Q: Who was she?

A: "A girl I met in London who, for various reasons, found it difficult to
survive at any level, and who finally killed herself by leaping from the
BBC tower . She had a considerable poetic talent and I hope to publish some of her writings."

Somehow , this does'nt satisfy me one bit. I read the extract out to several of my friends. But no one seemed to find it as fascinating as I did. Bah... Even in appreciation , it's tiresome to be alone...

Anyway, I found this so soulful and intense for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps the thought is'nt exactly particularly profound or novel. But for some reason , I love everything about the sentiment and the way it's expressed. For days after reading this , it kept playing in my head. And I wish I could find the rest of this piece of writing. Unfortunately, that is precisely what I have been unable to manage.

On a completely different( and quite obvious )note... My writing is still facing several road blocks , I must confess. Infact , I seem incapable of mentally digesting anything except music offlate. So that would explain the long absence. It is a reflection of my state of affairs - this indifference. And although that in itself is a subject with much scope for holding forth... It has become quite old on this blog. And so I shall refrain from writing until I do actually have something, that I think , is worth writing about.

Trance.....

Have you ever stood transfixed - not wanting to move....

You've been listening to your favourite music and the next song begins - The familiar strains of a thousand nights, inexplicably and magically transports you to a place , today , that it does not seem to have taken you to before...

You stop what you are doing and drink in a sound that is so so so very rich.... The present moment is everything suddenly-and you want to lose yourself in that slow plucking of the guitar -

The sublime strumming - You smile - the comfort it seems to bring - Deceptive. You have no inkling of the storm that it is only just beginning to stir up in you - Then the voice begins and you close your eyes - shut them tight . You ache to drown out everything else- including the memories that might be flooding back...

The lyrics you always loved suddenly acquire new meaning - you feel the song is yours. No.You know that it's yours -no one can understand it like you do now - It was written for you , for this very moment . And the music , Oh the music - it is so beautiful it almost hurts... You reach over to increase the volume - the loudest you can manage it , not even opening your eyes to do that, if you can help it - you think to yourself that you are going to play the song over and over and over again - maybe until the day ends and you drop from exhaustion despite wanting to keep awake - Upon which, You kick yourself for missing that one note because you spent that microsecond thinking that thought instead of just listening... And drowning...

Every pore of your skin now seems to breathe the rhythm... And you feel more alive than you have ever been... You rise and fall with each note... You ride the wave - And let the music carry you - But as the intensity increases , you feel you need to hold on to something - yourself even - The angst in the voice has touched its crest and the chords it strikes in you are too many to be fully conscious of at once . But you want to be - you want both song and time to dilate...

The words continue to spin in your head - their profundity , simplicity , beauty , love and harmony hit you so deep , all at once you discover depths of feeling you did not know existed .

Intuitively , you know that this piece had to have been written in those rare moments when the musician IS his music and there is no ego .....

For those minutes, you are the response - The response that the inspired musician spends his life trying to evoke...

Humility descends upon you in those moments and you realise how truly fragile you must be for the music to be able to rock the safely harboured ship of your consciousness enough to un-anchor it .... But perhaps it is the music that is just so powerful.

Outrage...

This is a report from the Times Of India website - A piece I originally read in the paper itself some time last week.. Anyway , it shocked the daylights out of me...

Read on..

MUMBAI: Five days ago, sessions court judge Laxmi Rao convicted a man to seven years' rigorous imprisonment for raping and kidnapping a minor but released him on probation after 45 days in custody. On Thursday, Judge Rao did it again. Suresh Vanse, a resident of Matibai Chawl in Borivli, was pronounced guilty of raping a 14-year-old girl but sentenced to imprisonment "till the rising of the court''-or, effectively, for just one day.

The logic behind the diminished sentences is the judge's ostensible concern for the 'humanitarian' angle. Both Vanse and Paramram Sarane, the first offender, were the sole bread-winners of families and had a large number of dependents, noted the two judgments. Interestingly, in July the judge had sentenced a woman convicted of seducing a young boy to five years' rigorous imprisonment.

Vanse, the offender in Thursday's case, raped his 14-year-old domestic help in 1992. He cajoled her into keeping mum by promising her that he would marry her soon. It was only when the girl became visibly pregnant that her father, a handcart puller, lodged a complaint with the Samata Nagar police station on September 7, 1992. The subsequent medical examination proved that the victim's age was somewhere between "14 and 15 years". Vanse even tried to get the child aborted but doctors refused on account of the girl's frail condition. When the case came up for trial in the sessions court, said public prosecutor Lata Chheda, the victim testified that Vanse had had sexual intercourse with her.

Vanse was ordered to pay Rs 50,000 in compensation which he promptly did on Thursday. Of this, Rs 25,000 is to be given to the victim and the other half to the girl child she gave birth to in 1993. The victim, who's from an extremely poor family in Sindhudurg has been in Mumbai since the incident, earning a living by doing menial household chores. Her 12-year-old daughter now lives in Sindhudurg with her grandmother.

Taken from the Times Of India.

Here

There isn't a day that passes when there are'nt several reports of rape or murder in the newspaper.And over time , we have become desensitised to it. We just click our tongues , shake our heads in sadness for a second and move on to the sports section... In the newspaper, also do we read , of the government's many screw-ups and scandals - Nothing seems to faze us anymore. For the Innocent to be wrongfully accused - we are accustomed to , For the guilty to manipulate the system and be acquitted we accept with practiced equanimity... But this is different. Please tell me that you feel my outrage... Atleast in some measure.

I do not claim to understand the criminal law system and its intricasies as it is prevalent in India. (or anywhere else in the world for that matter) . I realise, also, that the reason we appoint judges and allow them the liberty of pronouncing sentences at their discretion is because we believe that each case is unique and for a single law to cater inflexibly to thousands upon thousands of accused, would probably be unfair or to be more precise ,unjust. So, the law suggests a socially acceptable punishment - which by and large the judges are expected to mete out. Except when they feel that there are special circumstances which require either that the law be altered or that the accused receive a degree of exemption because of special circumstances.

And hence we hand pick men and women who are supposed to

1) To comprehend the prevalent law in all its intricasies

2) To have the stomach to make tough 'judgements' (to be corrupt or not to be..) and the mind to discern and be fair...

because they have been picked for the aforementioned qualities- We , rightfully , expect them to be a fair minded set of people with a keen sense of justice...

If you are laughing at my naivete , or if you think that I can't imagine how awry a state , the system of appointing judgeships , really is in , I will have you know otherwise. The 'education' I have received has ensured that I am sufficiently cynical about the State as an institution of welfare. But this is not about the practiced cynicism that we so conveniently hide behind. It's so easy to shrug one's shoulders and end the discussion by saying something flippant like "Someone must have been bribed" or "everyone these days is corrupt" or better yet "the woman must be off her rocker".

But what happens to the kid that got raped - What about her?? She's lived long enough in the knowledge that she has been wronged. Then the matter is made public and her humiliation becomes multi-fold. She endures the ensuing trial with as much dignity as she can muster. And finally, the man who raped her is convicted.

The system has pronounced him GUILTY. No doubts.

Imagine, if you will, how she might have felt at that point. Relief coursing through her veins-Exhaustion-A simple longing to just get back to some semblance of normalcy.
And then the bomb is dropped. A system she probably did'nt have faith in to begin with, that has given her some hope by convicting the bastard , cruelly snatches it right back. The man that violated her most basic of rights has to endure no more than a day's imprisonment. And oh.. On what grounds.Surely , nothing is going to change the fact that she was raped , but at the least , would'nt you think , that she hopes the judicial system will not make a mockery of itself and her by issuing , in effect , a one day sentence for a crime which is punishable by seven years.

Where is one day of custody in comparison with 2555 of rigorous imprisonment???

Special circumstances- Now, I have no frame of reference as to the different circumstances that merit a reduced sentence. Off the top of my head , I can only think of a mental illness or a serious physical illness. Even those cases are quite debatable - but let's not go there.

The issue at hand is simply this : What message does this judgment send out??

Is the Honourable Judge trying to tell us 'junta' , that if you are a father , and earn far too little to feed the brood that you have brought into this world - and you take it into your head to rape/kidnap/murder anyone(let alone a minor) and you actually go through with it - Then the law may be considerate to you simply because you happened to not comprehend the benefits of family planning and you let your financial affairs remain in disarray??

This sounds like one of the tax reductable items. Why don't we advertise it??
Have lots of dependents , rape someone and you can get away with it by paying a Rs. 50,000 one-time downpayment and a day in jail. But, sorry, if you are a more sensible and thoughtful member of the middle class you don't get the same concessions.(If you are thinking , why would a sensible and thoughtful member of the middle class commit the gruesome act of rape - Don't be so hasty in dismissing the thought - Sensible and thoughtful people can do be pretty horrible things too. Presumptions are dangerous and stereotypes constantly break the mould every second) Ofcourse the really rich and the really poor can't be in the scope of this discussion- they are quite simply, above the law. The really rich , because of the power that money buys. The really poor , because they have nothing to lose.

Back to the report - Notice if you will , the reporters mention of the judge's previous indictment of a woman. "Interestingly, in July the judge had sentenced a woman convicted of seducing a young boy to five years' rigorous imprisonment.". But I suppose , we can only speculate as to what he might have been alluding to. I seriously wonder , how the judge could , in all conscience (but then i'm making a big assumption here- that she has one) make such a seemingly ridiculous and obviously gross violation of the justice owed to the victim.

I'm afraid ,I don't seem to be able to be as caustic as I really want to be -I think it has something to do with the fact that I am simply too flabbergasted - The magnitude of the offense it does to my sense of justice. You come out all guns blazing , aching to demolish an argument that is seemingly flawed. Then you realise, that you have made a presumption in assuming there is any argument to demolish. That can only be if there is some semblance of logic or reason present . (If there is , for the life of me , I fail to see it...)So at the end of the day , we have a man who has committed a gruesome act - the highest level of human rights violation - And he gets away virtually scot free.

It makes one think...and despair. And as a woman , I guess I am a lot more cognisant of how this might affect me...

So tomorrow , if it happens , that the neighbour's creepy chauffeur or the weird watchman, or just any old tom - takes it into his head to rape me or someone I know and by some miracle manages to get caught , goes through the system and ends up being convicted , then ofcourse , I should understand when he won't be put behind bars , because while he was raping me , he forgot that he had seven mouths to feed back home , and the judicial system must give him allowances for the fact that he has a lot of dependents depending on him and a bad memory. For the rest of you rapist bastards, too bad... who asked you not to inundate this already
over-populated country with your progeny before you decide to rape us???

I repeat my point... I know.. It is my indignance and consternation at play..and even if it serves no purpose other than to vent .... I need to emphasise how ridiculous this seems to me...

And so finally, after screaming ourselves hoarse about the "injustice of it all" , where does all this leave us? What faith can we have in such a system? Is feeling outraged and sorry , for the poor girl and the thousands of others like her, all we can do? Will tomorrow be another day of mockery?

P.S : If someone who happens to read this , can shed any light on this seemingly inexplicable 'virtual condonement of sin' , I would appreciate it if you could enlighten me.. I do truly want to understand this...And perhaps , I don't know a lot there is to know...about the law and this world.

Some Arbit Gyan I Found Interesting!!

I received this rather interesting piece of gyan (well technically 'pieces') by email , It was titled " Whoever said history is boring..." .( Well, for starters I don't think history is boring at all... I think it is fascinating , like a lot of other things and I love it!!!) However, I'm not quite sure to what end this was originally written ... Did they just put together an interesting set of insights into certain aspects of 14th century life and how it relates to modern day language , for the heck of it?? Well, in any case, it certainly it held my attention ( and in these days of ennui , pour moi , that's certainly something! ) and it definitely seems to make sense. I'm not quite sure if all of it is entirely accurate ,especially the references to the origin of certain phrases , but the explanation seems plausible and definitely makes sense and I suppose that means at the very least it lends itself to being food for thought... I guess you will see what I mean once you read it..

And since I found it interesting I thought I would put it up on my blog - In an effort to resurrect it , you might say! It's been dormant for far too long.. There are reasons and reasons.. And I would hardly like to point fingers but I'm afraid I have to attribute it to the entrance of a certain someone into the sphere of my rather mundane existence.. Not to say that he has spiced it up Too much (me being far too resistant to too much change) , and what with him being a staid , sober ( ha ha ha ....) person himself... Nevertheless, he has certainly occupied my thoughts a lot...if not entirely!!

But excuses , excuses ... Yes, the amazing feeling of novelty that still persists three months into this relationship has lent itself to submerging me in a state of distraction , but there is (fortunately for me ) another (and the main) object of blame!
The lull (that just must lift one of these days , even if i have to hire a crane to do it ) is due , I believe , to the overwhelming ennui that seems to have settled comfortably over my sky -
That seemingly immovable entity, coupled with the inertia and sheer laziness that I constantly fight - finds me exceedingly frustrated , and fervently hoping that all of it will evaporate as quickly as it seemed to set in , all those months ago...

In that earnest hope.. here's what I was referring to:

(Oh and I could'nt help including a couple of comments and a little extra gyan , just 'cos ... Blame the cynicism that comes with ennui!!)

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, // Yeah right , I think in Madras ( still can't call it freaking 'Chennai' ) , if we get water in our taps we'd be pretty darn happy!!! // think about how things used to be.Here are some facts about the 1500's:

--Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour. Hence, the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

// Thank god for Chanel et al. Now , we could probably dispense with the flowers... Seriously though, I knew this , and it's also, I think , for the same reason that women wear flowers in their hair in india , but here, mercifully there was a lot more water and it was'nt quite so cold and people understood the concept of Hygiene and consequently it was a far more regular occurrence...I mean - the bathing!!! //

--Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence, the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water."

// Gee! Who would have ever thought... And what were we women complaining about!! We were'nt suppressed ...we were THIRD from last .... It was'nt us who got thrown out with the bath water... But then , I think that was probably a practical thingamajig... Who would make up the bath and get everyone to bathe the next year!! //

--Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (like mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."

--There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. // With a menagerie on the roof... I'm sure it was immaculately clean! // Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

--The floors were layered with dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying "dirt poor."

--The more affluent had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet , so they spread thresh (straw) on the floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until when you opened the door it would all start slipping outside. A heavy piece of wood was placed in the entranceway to keep that from happening. Hence the saying a "thresh hold."

--In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, "Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old."

--Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special.When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and "chew the fat."

--Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

// This is why , here in more enlightened (if i may say so) india , we used copper utensils , because copper is one of the most chemically inert substances and it would'nt react with the acid or many different salts contained in our food - so we were saved being poisoned by our own utensils!!! Although to be fair , we did'nt eat tomatoes until they were introduced to us by the europeans.. , but i'm sure there are other equally acidic food stuffs that we did and could have led to our demise , save for , well , i guess , the wisdom of a few here //

--Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or "upper crust."

--Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days.

// And to think that people now shell out exhorbitant sums for the same effect... I just need to check if Lead ,in combination with alcohol, can induce atleast some hallucinatory effects - And if it does...Hire some thugs , pass out the lead cups free for a bit and we might begin a thriving cartel right here ...Oh and incidentally , we might even manage to help contain the population explosion by knocking off the unfortunate thrill seekers...//

And someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence, the custom of holding a "wake".

// Presently, ofcourse , we just hook them up to the ECG machine (or is it something less complicated than that even? )... and the expense of a wake , the anticipation and suspence of wondering if they will live , disappears...But then maybe back then , that was the fun part for everyone else... bet you anything , the men ran bets , maybe even a nice Winner-takes-all pool , everytime someone was found on the side of the road...while the women sat by discussing which one was going to get to skin him for not "returning her call" after he'd slept with her.. And the poor soul , if somehow cognizant of this would wonder .. " To wake or not to wake..." //

--England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a "bone-house" and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, about every 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the "graveyard shift") to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be "saved by the bell" or was considered a " dead ringer."

// This bit is actually pretty darn morbid !! //

Now , whoever said that History was boring !

// Like my friend meera mentioned in one of her recent posts , anything can bore the death out of anyone if the source of the information himself is bored with what he saying ... Thank god for books, the wonderful neutrality of their face!! //

Last Evening : Old Friends , Memories , And Much Wide Eyed Listening

"I met my old lover
On the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me
I just smiled
And we talked about some old times
And we drank ourselves some beers
Still crazy afler all these years....."

- Paul Simon

A decade , when you are twenty years old , is (yes, I know you can do the math) half a life time...lol.. Quite a long time to remember someone you have had no contact with.

It's been that long since I last saw the scrawny, quiet , bespectacled kid that I held in secret admiration , with the unwavering awe that is only inspired in a ten year old.

Time can change things drastically - The scrawny kid , I discovered yesterday , is now a tall , good looking (I always knew he ,eventually, would be) , twenty-three year old guy. The glasses have disappeared and I noticed, much to my delight , that he has a positively divine smile.

So, No, He (obviously) was'nt an old lover.(lol..though , perhaps , five years down the line , I would'nt mind being able to look back and confer that particular distinction on him...lol.. ;-) )

But I did meet him on the street last night , He did smile , and I was so glad to see him. We talked about some old times and we drank ourselves some rather non-alcoholic drinks. Although , I'm sure he might have preferred otherwise...Lol...It was great. Meeting him.

I don't think he ever knew that he was the object of my very innocent , childish adoration. I was never the sort of girl that bandied her feelings about to all and sundry. Mine stayed strictly in my own mind , any kind of display was mortifying. In some ways , I guess, that still has not changed. Well , so atleast it was a good thing that I did'nt have to deal with him remembering me as the pesky kid who threw adoring , bashful glances his way. Thank god , I was'nt that kid.

His parents and mine were old friends. We were also neighbours . We went to the same school. We spent a lot of time playing cops and robbers and all the other silly games that kids play - Him , his younger , idiot brother , my younger , idiot brother and I . That was until he moved to the U.S permanently. After which I lost touch with him completely. Ironically enough I kept in touch with his brother, off and on ,atleast. His brother came back to India every couple of years. This chap did'nt. Or rather , has'nt . In ten years.

Like he mentioned several times, It was so interesting to see how time has altered so much. Things , places and people in our distant memory seem so much better,so much more exciting and so much more taller respectively...lol

Before we actually met , I wondered if it would be awkward , if we would have things to talk about , if silences would be prolonged , or worse still , if the urge to fill up the silence with inane conversation would wash over me and that I would bore the bejeezes out of him with my seemingly endless prattle.

Mercifully, all my fears were unfounded. (I think) The conversation flowed easily. I did'nt feel the need to engineer or direct the conversation and possibly make an ass of myself in the process . Or search my brain frantically for something , anything to talk about . True , at first , we spoke as strangers. But there was this strange bond that I suppose I can only explain by saying that it comes from knowing someone as a kid. Even if only , that that bond is one held by some vague memories and some not quite as vague ones.

My memories of him , or rather memories of which he was a part of are quite varied. But for the most part , I remember him as the boy who included me in the boisterous games of the neighbourhood boys , despite the fact that I was a mere girl..lol..
He did it in the quiet , firm - "Eyy, let her play da..." , kind of way - No fuss or show. He constantly rescued me from his silly brother who bullied me endlessly. And I guess that in itself probably earned my eternal gratitude , if not admiration . I remember him once telling my dad , " I'll look after her , uncle.." I think it was when we wanted to cycle to the park which was a couple of kilometres away and my dad was'nt too sure if it was safe - At that point I recall being suffused with the kind of smug joy that you can so unashamedly feel only as a child. It's such an innocuous incident but it has stuck in my memory...I doubt if he remembers any of this. I did'nt , could'nt bring myself to, ask him if he did. Because it means much more to me than it would to him. Strange. The amount of fondness that I feel for someone from the oh-so-distant past. No I think , it's fondness for the memory of him and the times which he was a part of.

Now, he is the absolutely fascinating (atleast he managed to keep that image for the 5-6 hours I spend with him yesterday...not a mean task, I should add) guy , that in some vague way , I always pictured he would be. The advantage , I've always found , of being a relatively reserved person , is that you can achieve this air of enigma that a lot of people find very attractive. It makes the people you are around curious about what you think about everything - simply because you are not particularly forthcoming about it. At any rate , that's how it is with me.

And so , we talked.Well, He talked and I asked lots of questions and listened.I discovered , that his life has had such a vast amount of experience. Yes , yes , we all have experiences. But his are so diverse and rich , on account of the fact that he has immigrated to a different country , travelled all over the world - in his short life- met so many different kinds of people. I could go on..

So, with my earnest-but-I-don't-want-to-look-too earnest look that I am wearing , I ask him a million questions about his life. For a change , I want to talk nothing about mine. We talk politics , culture , liberalism and host of other things. I hear about his years at Purdue and the exchange program on which he went to Oxford. About the british political science professor who smoked a pipe and said..."Alright then , laddies..." ever so often. ( that he mimics oh so cutely) . About his current course of study- A Masters in Maritime Archeology.

Uhhh...Yeah...Diving for sunken ships and all that..People still do that..lol...He did a bachelor's degree in anthropology and archeology . When he tells me that , Im surprised. But it's not just his choice of career...It's all this vast amount of knowledge that he has..It was great to be able to talk to a guy who had travelled so extensively- he's backpacked for all over England , Ireland and Europe. I suppose travelling alone gives you a lot of perspective about culture and everything.

We talk about the most dangerous kinds of bears- the time when he saw one when he was hiking...how he turned and " Didnt exactly walk back" ...lol..And about surfing in adelaide , where he's studying now , and great white sharks and how one of his neighbours got eaten by one...

Yes, I know , I probably sound star struck...But personally speaking, I have never met someone with such a rich amount of experience of the world. And it was absolutely fascinating. In a way , it makes me feel like my life has been so freaking empty and devoid of any real LIFE. But I guess , it was great - I think I probably spent most the evening and dinner , with my face in hands and my eyes wide open - attention completely held. I seemed to forget , at several points in time that it was'nt just him at the table - That his brother , who was also there all the while , was probably hating the fact that I listened perfunctorily to him and waiting to get back to talk to his brother, who was hogging all the attention...Not intentionally even .Even my parents , who have met so many interesting people , were quite charmed at dinner. He was polite and funny - respectful..lol...I sound positively dizzy...lol..

In any case , the night , however enjoyable , came to an end. And yeah , this time around, there were noises made about keeping in touch and all of that...I don't know if that will happen. I doubt it. But I'm thinking that maybe ten years down the line - or perhaps sooner , I'd like to meet him and sit down and talk about all the stuff he's been upto and maybe if my life gets a little more off the beaten track , I could contribute to the conversation. Maybe his life won't be as fascinating to me , a couple of years down the line , as it seems to be now - Hopefully because I would have experienced some of it myself and I won't be so naive and star struck anymore...

And then I can look back at last evening and it will be a part of the memories and we will talk about it...and I will tell him I fascinated I was with all the things he talked about, how it infused me with so much determination to get myself out , to see the world....And with the ease and comfort of old friends...we will talk of our old school and how the buildings seem less imposing now and how those were good times , when we were kids. How nice it is to meet old friends.

On a completely different note...

Oh..To be young and in love...

Intoxicating.

More Meanderings And My Favourite Poem

I have always been drawn to beautiful language.And what better manifestation of that than Poetry. When I try to recollect when the fascination began ,I realise that it's been there for quite a while , right from when I was a school kid. Back then though, as far as I remember , I liked it because of the rhythm and the rhyme, and just because it was a little different and I understood it better than the other kids. A silly reason , but one that has sustained my interest over all these years ,long enough for me to begin to enjoy it for it's actual beauty and wonder it inspires in so many.

It always came easily to me. Poetry, that is. And I took to it all the more for that.I loved the metaphors and the meandering ,the eloquent descriptions that were meant, if only, to evoke vivid images in one's mind. I loved that I could get it when no one else seemed to it. Lol...I loved impressig my teachers..This one in particular especially...He was young and really handsome (your eyes are popping out..yeah I know...In madras...but he was) and spoke impeccable english in a deep baritone(which was good enough reason for me to fall in love with him - he turned out subsequently to be a womanising bastard...but hey you can't be perfect...lol) and we were all totally spell bound when he read out a poem. (lol...So mister Godfrey sir , if you ever read this...Thanks..You sparked my interest..).

(I remember reading Shelley and Walter Scott and all the nice ballad-y stuff , which had such nice rhyme schemes and everything, way back in 6th standard. In fact , some years I remember solely by the poems we did in class...How weird is that..lol..I never somehow took to indian poets until very much later..I guess 'cos translations did'nt really rhyme..lol..anyway, I got over that...Thankfully.)

Eventually , my liking for poetry ceased to have anything to do the person spouting it and became a more of a pride thing. Yeah , well , you see..since all of my friends were total geeks , and I guess in that respect I got left behind , they would be the ones explaining stuff to me. The math or the physics. And my way of helping them back , my means of restoring my image everytime I needed their help , was to explain language.

(Uhh...we needed each other's help 'cos in 11th and 12th we had such horrible teachers in school that it was better that we tried to figure things out by ourselves than to inflict the torture on ourselves ,and endanger our future thinking capabilities by letting them have anything to do with the injecting of any kind of information or ideas into our brain...)

Perhaps it was just that my friends had no patience with it. I don't know. They seemed to dislike it so much. English was a chore , just something to be gotten over with. And Poetry to them was the worst of it , It was something to be mugged up if need be and thought about just enough to answer questions such as "What do you think the poet means when he says..?" And even , then it would be me who would be frantically contacted the previous night (no one ever studies english except then dummies) before an exam to come up with answers to the obvious questions.

And I was the authority.Well ,that is to say, in my class, in school. Ok so you did'nt come to me when you could'nt figure out a math problem , but I was the official english tutor for the entire class. And that being the case , and my pride being at stake , I could and would never bullshit. I'd think about things , what they meant from different points of view and everything and give the geeks their fair exchange for all the times I needed their help. Maybe that was even why we became friends , at least at first it began as a symbiotic relationship. (Isn't that true vishnu??)

However, even after I left school and after my first year in college , when I was no longer obligated to read poetry , I found myself increasingly gravitating towards it. I cannot claim that my exposure is deep or even wide. But what I've read so far , has left me thinking , musing ,pondering for days on end. Just like other things I've read , I guess , only the difference being that this drew me on a more emotional level than the stuff in books.

Some poems have haunted me. And I can't help repeating the lines over and over again to myself, like the tune of a song that gets stuck in one's head.Because they have struck such a chord. Some have been so cynical as to have left me quite disturbed. Some, I've even found, can be a source of so much mirth. (like this poem I put up on one of my earlier posts by E.E cummings).

But the poetry I like best is the soulful, romantic kind. I'm a sucker for it and can lap it up in quantities that many people find quite nauseating. In the beginning ,I was'nt particularly discriminating. After a point though , you learn to see what makes a Poem brilliant , when in fact it maybe saying something quite similar to any one of your dime a dozen pop ballady things.(uh..Can't believe I actually mentioned both in the same sentence...Gods of poetry , please do not caste me into eternal hell...lol)

So, yeah I totally trip (A friend of mine would have me say "Get off to.."..lol) on Shakespeare , Byron , Yeats , Browning..The acknowledged and established greats. But if there was one poem , that I had to pick , that was my All Time Favourite...The one that really moved me , that I love , that I recite in my dreams because it haunts me so much , it would have to be "Tonight I can Write The Saddest Lines..." By Pablo Neruda...I've only read one compilation of his poetry...the one from which this poem comes. But I know I will probably love it all.

Anyway, I've been reading this poem a lot offlate for some reason. And I can't get over how beautiful it is. I don't know if you will see in it , what I do , or what loads of other people probably have...But there are so many things about this poem that I relate to so well...Anyway , no description of mine will do justice to it so I will just let you read it ,if you will..

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.This is all.

In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain,but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

-----------

Hmmm...I guess poetry is an oft repeated subject on my blog and I suppose I might have even mentioned the same things I've said here , in a previous post. Bear with me though , It's just a reflection of how "into" it , I am.

I just re-read this poem and I can't get over how awesome it is...Anyway , offlate I've taken up reading poetry again , I had stopped for a while in between...So , well , if you have any suggestions...

Tell Me Your Dreams??

There's this really old and popular song , if i'm not mistaken , sung by buddy holly ,that goes as follows:

Dream
Dream dream dream
Dream
Dream dream dream


Whenever I want you, in my arms
Whenever I need you and all your charms
Whenever I want you
All I have to do is dream
Dream dream dream

I can make you mine
Taste your lips of wine
Any time, night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I'm dreaming my life away

I need you so ,that I could die
I love you so, and that is why
Whenever I want you
All I have to do is dream

This post has nothing to do with the song except the title...All I Have To Do Is Dream...and the fact that dreaming really seems to be my prinicpal past time or atleast my most favourite one off late.I know that they say that if you want your dreams to come true , don't spend so much time sleeping..(this holds for awake dreaming too..so maybe we should say if you want your dreams to come true , don't spend more than ten minutes dreaming everyday)

It can get pretty scary because , as time goes by instead of dreams becoming more of a reality....they seem to remain more unreal. And then like the song goes...you realise that..."Gee whiz, I'm dreaming my life away.."

So I decided that I would list out the things I want do in my life , so I don't lose sight of them ,however small, knowing that now is not the time to be thinking about it and then as soon as these god damn exams are over I will start to take notice.And I will use them as a reminder on every road I take , to see if that's the road I want to be on.

Why all the fuss you ask , the melodrama and all that jazz...well the thing is.....I'm graduating in a month (I think.)and I have no clue as to what I'm gonna be doing next.

You may ask ,in the hallowed words of Rachel of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, New York

"Yeah , what , so???"

I'm probably among the millions of seemingly aimless souls who will be awarded a degree (for no particular achievement) this year. Now, to be fair to myself , It ain't like I have nowhere to go...I have a couple of things lined up..But none of them seem anywhere close to where I'd imagined myself. In all this rush and preoccupation , I keep stopping to wonder if all the effort is worth it? If the direction i'm heading in , is the right one? And a myriad of other racking doubts that are bound to cloud one's mind when one is in the process of a "Transition".

So , I decided to stop a while , even if only to indulge myself , and think about all the things I really want to do.And make a list , so even if I end up making ends meat by doing paperwork or coming up with dumb ideas for people to buy..That will only be my preoccupation. And I will look at this list and this shall be what I will do with my life and what I want out of life. I guess a lot of things might get added or removed from the list as life goes on and I experience a lot more things but as of now ,This is it...I think ,These things will make me happy.

So ,here's what I came up with:

1) I want to learn to dance the salsa , the tango , swing , fox trot , cha cha cha...and go dancing every weekend.

2)I wanna learn to ski , I want to go parasailing , sky diving , water skiing , ice skating , bungee jumping ,white water rafting.

3)Explore India-villages and all-not just the touristy thing- Rajasthan,Orissa,Leh,Darjeeling-everywhere.

4)I want to spend 3 months (at least) in each of the following places :

- Paris : to haunt the cafes , camp at The Louvre , the Musee d'orsay and absorb French culture even if it's on a shoe string budget

-Florence and Rome : just to visit all the churches , see the frescoes and Michelangelo's sculptures

There are other places on my list. But the above mentioned cities are long dreamed about destinations.

5) I'd like to live in Europe for one simple reason and one reason only ('cos I love madras dearly ) . Because ,I'm told, in Europe, everyone slogs for ten months and vacations for two whole months, irrespective of whether you are a janitor or a high powered executive- They believe that life is for the living and work is for sustenance. (Hear Hear)

Or, I don't mind a job here that will afford me the same luxury and the same monetary benefits..lol

6) I'd like to be in a job that can afford to let me have a house by the sea...(tsunami regulations adhered to etc. ) where the biggest room in the house is the library.

6)And have lots and lots of books and CDs or DVDs or whatever manner of music storage we are gonna use in the future.

7)Speaking of music, I'd kill to learn to play the violin.

8)I want to learn to speak tamil ,because by god, it's my mother tongue and how will I convince my kids that they need to speak tamil when I'm living in a house by the sea in europe ,if I don't speak tamil myself.

9)I want to learn hindi and urdu to understand all the beautiful hindi lyrics of old hindi movies and faiz's poetry , which so far I have only read translations of.

10) Add spanish , italian and french to the list of languages for the following reasons

-Spanish-just so I can read Neruda's poems in their original.
-Italian-so I can understand Opera-I fell in love with italian after watching Life Is Beautiful..
-French-because I laboured for a year and a half over it and it's a beautiful language , and it will help me understand the menu where I live in europe..lol

11) I want to be able to read copiously- and still more

About all the learning part..That I should do sometime soon..It's difficult as you get older , I hear.

So for now , That's all I can come up with. For the most part I'd really like to travel every year and spend time absorbing culture and language of different places all over the world.

Anyway,these are my somewhat humble(?)dreams..I would love to hear that I'm not the only dreamer in this world...lol..So tell me your dreams..?..uh...corny...lol..well anyway...

After Sunrise , After Sunset

Before Sunrise and Before Sunset are two wonderful and refreshingly different movies that I had the pleasure of watching back to back a couple of days ago. And since both of them appealed vastly to my rather overwhelming sense of romance and yet managed to remain withing the realms of realism-I loved it.

Both of the movies in fact are just two-hour long conversations. But wow..what conversations. I don't mean that they are particularly profound , the kind of conversations that people never have. Not at all, they are the kind of things we can and maybe do talk about. But the beauty of it is , that these two strangers are able to have meaningful conversations and connect on such an intellectual basis (atleast seemingly- ofcourse Ethan Hawke is hot and Julie Delpy is absolutely a natural beauty) and be around each other with such ease-

So this is what I would call a thinking romantic's (is that contradictory ...no, romantics do think...I think..lol) dream come true movie- Why? Well , on the one hand you have the romance of two complete strangers meeting on a train and connecting with each other almost instantly - and yet as they are spending that evening they are both fully aware that what they have is transitory , they realise that they are stuck in a moment ,so to speak , which will pass eventually and they have to get back to reality-and reality is what they decide to hold at bay , just to experience the magic of the whole thing.

Anyway , if you have'nt seen both of the movie and if you are'nt a complete cynic of the highest order , you should definitely watch it..Unless your idea of a good movie means that it should have some/all of the below

-A wicked villain (ok maybe you could think of time as that..)
-A major conspiracy to kill the president/blow up america
-The F.B.I/ C.I.A/Cops
-lots of sex
-lots of bashing up of hero by villain and eventually vice versa
-a story line (this movie is completely in the moment...not much of a story- but in this case it is entirely perfect)
-A love triangle, with/without "yeh shaadi kabhi nahin hoga " type tantrums.

Before Sunset , is the sequel , and unlike the usual trend , not at all disappointing .Infact it's faithful to the original ,realistic and yet wonderfully romantic.Before Sunset is about what happens when the two of them happen to meet 9 years later.

Anyway , since I love both of these movies so much, I thought I would pay a little tribute to them by putting up the poem (from Before Sunrise ) and the lyrics of the Waltz Song (from Before Sunset)

I love the poem although honestly, I don't understand certain bits of it, if anyone has any idea on what the first part means, the second is plain enough, but things like Limousine Eyelash?? is that to mean that they are reallly long?? And daydream delusion , does he mean that she is so perfect she seems unreal, like a dream that he conjured up??

Anyway here it is:

Daydream delusion
Limousine eyelash
Oh baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass
Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me
Sweet-cakes and milkshakes
My delusion angel
My fantasy parade

I want you to know what I think
Don't want you to guess anymore
You have no idea where I came from
We have no idea where we're going
Lodged in life
Like branches in a river
Flowing downstream
Caught in the current
I'll carry you
You'll carry me
That's how it could be
Don't you know me?
Don't you know me by now?


Ok and this is the song that Julie sings to Ethan in Before Sunset- It's pretty ordinary as lyrics go but it fits that scene so well , it's in the context is what I mean. And it's beautiful and haunting the way she sings .
(Imagine a french accent as you read this...if you can..)

Let me sing you a waltz
Out of nowhere, out of my thoughts
Let me sing you a waltz
About this one night stand

You were for me that night
Everything I always dreamt of in life
But now you're gone
You are far gone
All the way to your island of rain

It was for you just a one night thing
But you were much more to me
Just so you know

I hear rumors about you
About all the bad things you do
But when we were together alone
You didn't seem like a player at all

I don't care what they say
I know what you meant for me that day
I just wanted another try
I just wanted another night
Even if it doesn't seem quite right
You meant for me much more
Than anyone I've met before

One single night with you Jesse
Is worth a thousand with anybody

I have no bitterness, my sweet
I'll never forget this one night thing
Even tomorrow, in another arms
My heart will stay yours until I die

Let me sing you a waltz
Out of nowhere, out of my blues
Let me sing you a waltz
About this lovely one night stand

P.S: ...One night stands- My friends and I were'nt quite sure if we are as much against them as we used to be before watching this movie....that is to say..one night stands with Ethan Hawke..lol

Blah Blah Blah...

Trials exhausted , the final test came- Disastrous!!
The last lap , my lungs burned and then collapsed.
No steam , No will. Did I expect this?

I think I did, That's why I'm numb. But I'm also tired ,
as is my conscience. Of the guilt and time mis-spent.
I fill my days now, with renewed vigour. Dance , Music , Books ,Escape!

So don't ask me and I won't lie.

What I want to do , and what I may have to end up doing...

My sights are on that bright star , of which all I feel now is the promise of its light...

-------------------------------------------

That said , onto more cheerful things. This post is gonna be rather fuzzy i'm afraid...It's been so long since I've written , I'm terrified that I've forgotten how.

Ever since my exams got over last week...and I officially became Freeeeeee....(Yay...)I've watched three really different movies...I say different not because I didn't immensely admire them , but because I'm not sure if everyone else will....I wanted to write a review for it , but I'm tired after spending a day doing nothing and an evening cooking (more about that little adventure later).

The movies I mean are
1)Sideways :which has unusually explicit sex scenes for a really classily(is that a word?) shot film (Among many other things).
2)Before Sunrise :Recommended to me nearly a year ago by a friend- refreshingly different film , but if you don't like simplicity and/or profundity , a slow screenplay and a certain sense of romance-don't watch!!!!
3)Spanglish: An adam sandler movie makes it hard to imagine that he's the same guy who starred in that excuse of a movie -Little Nicky!!!

I also managed to begin writing this really weird goofy spoof-story that was concocted on the spur of the moment and narrated to me ,one which I shall probably complete one of these days and put up here. Probably in two or three parts. It's turning out to be really long...

Am currently reading My Experiments With Truth (by M.K Gandhi , sillies) .But I think I'll save that for another post. So many impressions to write about. And my exhaustion might render it superficial if I tried to express it now.

Speaking of which ,Exhaustion I mean , I valiantly tried my hand at making pasta today - penne actually. It did'nt turn out exactly the way it was supposed to , (but that's 'cos I was trying to cut down on cheese content) but it was reallly nice , atleast that's what my brother said...And he , I might mention , is your discerning connoiseur of cuisine , one who has no qualms about letting me know , in no uncertain terms , if something i've made is repulsive or even slightly short of his rather high expectations.

Anyway, after an evening of shopping for ingredients and slaving away in the kitchen for two hours , my gourmet meal was ready. Penne with a light white cream sauce , Baked potatoes and sour cream , steamed and tossed vegetables and cheese garlic bread.

Not bad no? For a first time, trying so many things at once! Mom tried to dissuade me from anything too elaborate.She kept insisting that I neednt have to take so much effort.(This was a belated Mother's Day gift!)

But I had decided I would and By jove, I was going to. I think what she was really afraid of was that in the process of making this meal , I would turn the kitchen upside down. Well, I didnt- Using about 25 different vessels and not doing the dishes after wards does'nt count as that no?

If you're wondering what the whole "No?" thing is about...It's a really adorable french affectation , or supposedly french affectation that I picked up from my french prof a couple of years ago and forgot after I completed my language credit requirement . Along with the rest of my french.

I picked it up again after watching "Before Sunrise"- Btw, if you watch the movie , pay attention to the poem in it...the milkshake poem, you'll know what I mean if you watch it , It's beautiful.

Anyway, getting back to my cooking , I called pretty much everyone I could to tell them I had cooked. And surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) all the guys reacted in the following way:

1) What?????......You cook??????? Since When????
2) Sneha , don't Bullshit me , you don't know how to cook!!

I re-iterate that I bloody well do

3) So , umm...do u cook well???

No--I'm just boasting in the hopes of enticing you into a eating a lousy meal 'cos that would just make my sadistic pathetic life a little happier and I could hate you for it!!!!

4) Ok...then I'm coming tomorrow, you can cook for me!!

My entire life is at your service..sure , anytime , just name the menu and i'll name the price!

5) yeah...uhhh...so what time...

Do your mothers not feed you??

I told this to 6 guys and all of them reacted more or less like this....and two of them are mere acquaintances so it's not even like anybody can say that maybe they know me too well or something such thing!

Anyway,so if you get held up by traffic on your way to work or play , tomorrow afternoon , by a string of people clammering for more--Don't blame me-I can't help that I'm a good cook!!

Lol...the secret of being a good cook at twenty: Refuse to learn how to make dal , chawal , roti , sabzi!! That way , if you are a girl , you will not get cajoled /coerced into cooking daily ,thus causing burnout and making it an enormously loathsome exercise , whose drudgery has to be endured for the rest of one's life (unless one is really lucky enough to marry a nice chef who doesnt mind bringing leftover home)-

This is a policy my best friend meera and I have adopted and found to be invaluable. She has many wonderful qualities but does'nt know the front end of a stove from the back end. You ask her though...if she can cook and she will , without batting an eyelid , confidently affirm that she does. Ask her what her repertoire consists of and you will hear the following:

a) Brownie
b) Pineapple upside down cake
c) Muffins

etc..

So, she comes through as someone who can make oh-so-complicated stuff..so everyone assumes she can do all the routine stuff..

Well in short she and I are the Marie Antoinettes of this world , offering our family and friends cake instead of bread or pasta instead of saambaar saadam. And since they will not have cake/pasta everyday (thankfully), we plead helplessness for their lack in taste and escape the "You're 20 and you need to learn to cook , not just to fend for yourself but when you get married what will happen ?" dialogue.

On that note..I think I better toodle off to bed-though the night is young , the morning beckons and the rambling must stop before it gets to painful....

I don't think I better write quite so late at night...

(lol...am giggling my head off , just realised that in a trivial , childish way , the previous sentence rhymes and couple of more sentences previous to that rhyme as well...I think...The night is intoxicating.What is it about the still air and the crescent moon that makes me so hiiighhh....

It's such a beautiful night. It really is .And I have a strong feeling I'm gonna regret posting all of this in the morning...)

Exams!!!!

This blogger has to take a month long , circumstances-imposed ,sabbatical.
Unfortunately , in this world of unpleasant, unfair, painful, and trying things that plague our existence , there is an added burden of having to spend periodic intervals in the first 21 years or so , of one's life , studying for and writing exams.

And since this blogger will be writing her last and final set of that offensive and burdensome (if that's not a word , I move to have it inducted in the dictionary.) exercise in order to receive an inane piece of paper that says nothing about her actual knowledge , mastery and skill level, a.k.a the university degree , she has decided that she will conquer her powerful urge to be lazy and indifferent and actually actually study hard for it. (Or somewhat...as the case maybe)

To everyone else , also engaged in similar pursuits of making as much good at the last minute can afford , I wish you the best of luck...If you are anything like this blogger , you will need all of it!!!

See you later , alligators!!!!

P.S: I have forced myself to write this post for two reasons. One, there are less chances of me lamenting over the fact that I have'nt written anything nice in a long time. Two, I stop myself from writing mediocre crap (because I'm too occupied to write something decent) and reassure myself that when I am more free, the writing will get better 'cos I will have time to think !!!

Remembrance

Rosemary Means Remembrance


Rosemary, I feel you slipping away
Pray ,do not desert me.This solitude
Is terrifying .And to confront each moment,
I ask only,that you continue to haunt me.

You are the dead rose whose smell,
Though faint, is never lost.The
Withered ,yet , enduring petal that
Faithfully lies ,between two yellow,
Frayed, pages filled with memories.

Unfazed are you by the inconstancy
Of fading ink , the words that slowly
You watch die,You continue to echo.
For your stain is etched more permanently.
And it tells of a love that you symbolized
And surely ,he once felt for me.


Something I wrote on the spur of the moment. Feel free to tell me if you think it's crappy.

Catalina...... Anyone????

Has anyone had occasion to read Somerset Maugham's "Catalina" ??

The reason I ask is that , I have to submit a book review on it by the end of the week ,and although I have read the book before and am currently re-reading it , I find that I am in need of some sort of perspective on the more serious aspects of the book.

In particular, the arguments and the attitude the author portrays about a)The spanish inquisition and religious fervour in general b)the undercurrent of cynicism in the entire story(which i don't remember from before) c)The hypocrisy of the clergy
d)anything else you might have noticed that is special( or not )about the book...

I did enjoy the book very much the first time I read it (which was a couple of years ago) . But now as I re-read it , my ideas about it seem to have changed a lot and I find myself a lot more critical about the writing , narrative style and the story line itself. Therefore , since no one I know (or whose opinion I care to ask for ) has read the book , was wondering if anyone who happens to read this might care to tell me some of the impressions that the book left on you , either positive or negative....

Considering , that this book is one of the lesser known books of Somerset maugham (and I think it's his last)...atleast everyone I know seems to blink when i mention it...I'd be great if anyone could give me some suggestions perhaps..'Cos I can't seem to decide what to focus on...and the assignment has to be 3000 words...So..lol..Can't (and ofcourse don't want to) bullshit..

So , If any one can help...I'd be eternally grateful..

Blue Streak And My Birthday!!

This post is not about the movie "BLue streak" or Martin Lawrence ,maybe if it was it might be slightly more entertaining but it is instead, a rather long winded account of my birthday..and a couple of things that happened before and after that pleasantly uneventful day that simply felt the need to recount on my blog!!(This was written on the 12th but I did’nt have time to put it up since exams were on..)

My Birthday was great!! Actually it was pretty ordinary as birthdays go ,in terms of presents from parents and stuff but this time I guess, maybe, I was a little more appreciative of everything..and grateful ..So, Muchos Gracias to everyone who made it special …You know who you are..and you better be reading this…except you atticus…you can just go hang…

This is what I wrote that day :

By popular demand (read vinod's "Me want new post, and soon!! " comment) I'm (obliged to be) back!!

The last couple of weeks have been madness. Looking back now, it seems very hazy. But ,I suppose if you don't work consistently there are bound to be times when all the work in the world lands up on your table to be finished in the last 3 hours , 3 days or 3 weeks...all of which, is probably absolutely insufficient to get the job done as well as you can possibly do it!!

So, we compromise on quality of work! I usually end each day with a healthy ,"F*** it!!! , I can't do anything now anyway" So, my CA Tests (internals, mid-sems or whatever the hell you want to call it) just got over. And the 3 hours of sleep that I managed to steal on each of those 4 consecutive days is something that I find I am incapable of surviving on. So yeah , although the sleep deprivation should have taken it's toll on me...Yesterday was simply great!! (Today, however, is a different story..)

Let me start at the very beginning:

At 12:00 , the morning of the 11th of march , I was awakened by calls from friends with their birthday wishes and demands for treats etc. etc. .These were words that were spoken with much affection and good will between 12:00 and 12:30 and the very words that I had no recollection of at 2:30 in the morning when Vishnu (he’s nocturnal and therefore my official waker-upper during exam times ) called me for the second time to wake me up to study for my solid state exam (which I had’nt yet begun then , and eventually did’nt begin at all!) which happened with such perfect timing , to be exactly 20 yrs past the day I was born!!!!Yay me!!!!(Bah!! my birthday has always been bang in the middle of exams!)

It's 6:45 AM : I’ve just discovered that I’m still in bed and have been since about 3:15 when I gave up studying with the F*** it!! ( as aforementioned )and crawled back into bed despite vishnu’s entreaties to “drink coffee and get moving.”

7:45 AM : I’ve reached college and my three best buddies began a loud and very rousing rendition of ‘happy birthday ‘ ,(The first of 4 that day! !) thus disturbing all last minute muggers (lol…not as in the thugs that stick you up and that haunt the dark alleys of NYC…but just as annoying) who had to contain their irritation at being disturbed because they couldn’t possibly tell us to shut up…meghs and gayatri would fix them with a glittering eye..lol..

7:50 AM : After wrestling among themselves and their consciences they decide to give up and just give me the presents before the exam , even if as they put it “ it causes me to be overwhelmed with emotion and choke on it and therefore do miserably on my test” (Ah! ! my friends…Your concern…lol..but the thing is it was pre-ordained that I do miserably anyway , you see , that happens when you do not engage in an activity called ‘studying’! !)

So , I am handed three presents ,and I try to guess what they are before opening the wrapping despite gayatri’s insistence that I should’nt “feel up” the gifts.. Anyway , so I got a book…that was a great present…anyone who knows me would probably find it easy to shop for me…I’d settle very happily for a good book. (Vishnu , this is for you…take the hint…especially since you are rich now!!)…

And next was a stuffed doll…Now this mystifies me , ‘cos my friends know that I’m not one of those typical girls that go ga-ga over a stuffed toy…but hey! the doll was actually very cute and it was shall we say , “capable of calisthenics” ! ! ! So , no looking at that gift horse in the mouth… …lol Lastly , was something that I found really special ….A bottle of blue hair mascara ..Umm..yes…you just read that right…I did say I liked it and in the same breath also mentioned it was BLUE! ! !

See, I’ll give you a short summary as to why it’s so special
-Have always wanted to streak hair blue…
-Never had the courage to ask parents
-Finally asked them a week before birthday
-They made lots of noises but after much consideration said yes ..(Wait to go , mom and dad! ! Very cool of you to actually agree to suffer being in public with a blue haired offspring!)
-Thought it was gonna cost me 1500 bucks , but turns out my hair is too black and stuff has to be done to it if the blue has to show
-The stuff plus streaking blue comes to a nice round sum of 4 grand. (yes..Indian rupees ..current exchange rate 43.84 for a dollar)
-Me being conscientitious about amount of shopping already done , felt obligated to decline despite parents’ grudging acceptance to shell out…
-Was very disappointed
-Consoled self with a promise to indulge in whims costing 4000 grand the minute I begin working (Which could be a long way off…)

Therefore , for all above mentioned reasons , junta around me figured I was sort of disappointed (despite best efforts at the stiff upper lip) So , they decided they would get me the next best thing : Temporary blue in a bottle…I was thrilled..

Am currently sporting short hair that is streaked blue (Although considering my natural colour is jet black it’s a bit hard to see…sort of looks like veronica lodge style blue) and you know what…it is’nt ghastly and the proof of that is my friends and especially my parents have’nt disowned me! ! !

I must admit, however , that I shocked the daylights out of the faculty and staff at college..I got lots of "Whaaaaat Maaa.....Why did you have to do this ..." And then open-mouthed stares followed by "Oh my god...Your hair is blue.." (Duh!!!!Can't you see!!)and many many others like it...but then that was half the fun anyway…(Oh , if anyone knows of anyone else with streaked blue hair in chennai don’t tell me…I’d like to think I’m the only one…)

Umm…back to my birthday..Daytime was usual, went to lunch with parents…had to study for the next day’s exam(nuclear phys) and did’nt end up doing too much of that..was too excited ..about what..I don’t know..but I was just so thrilled…

Anyway , so all my friends called from out of town , even the crazy ones who are too busy being IITians (bah! ! !..ok..ok am not complaining da..you called at least! !..lol...) and then finally we went out for dinner.

Dinner was ,in one word: Fabulous.

The Crown at Residency Towers, has the most beautiful view of madras ever and it is so god damn romantic! ! ! It’s unbelievable! Unfortunately no special someone to speak of . (Damn! !) However, I am immensely grateful to parents for suggesting to treat my 5 friends there…

Dinner itself was great…everyone loved the food. My friends got the singer in the lobby to sing happy birthday for me while we were waiting to arrive and they sang along(that was second time) and then they surprised me with a cake (which I think in residency is complimentary) and sang another happy birthday (the fourth time…...they already sang once when we got seated at our table…I think everyone at the restaurant between 7:30 and 10:00 knew it was my birthday..lol! !) at the top of their voices..Was exceedingly sweet of them although I was a trifle ,no!! actually very, embarrassed. But the place was so beautiful

Suggestion to all single guys trying to pattao a girl: Take her for dinner there...She'll be convinced in a hurry!!!!

The ambience was awesome..and the lighting perfect..It could not have been more beautiful...Ofcourse we had to hang on to everything ,Literally!!!! Including napkins because the wind was a bit strong...lol.

As I was driving back home , was thinking what a great day it had been and all that…despite exams (Thanks you guys for coming despite everything…especially you meghs…) and then thought how I had got such nice presents and all and when I finally got back home just as I was going to bed parents called me to give me last present of the day…(They had already given me quite some stuff before) A cellphone! !

Now if you’re thinking that it’s not big deal…you’re absolutely right…It is no big deal and I’m probably the only person in chennai as of march 10th who did’nt have a cellphone , not like I particularly minded but dad is very very very anti-cellphone…So considering that , it was a really big deal…So that just made my day…More because it was symbolic of them giving me my space and freedom than because of the actual object itself.

All in all it was really great…Oh and to my silly brother…Where’s my birthday present????? Your deigning to come back for the hols (As though you have a choice!!) will not pass of as a present and in any case is not good enough!!!!!!!!

P.S: Was sitting in gangotri today with friends and happened to remark that they had sung Happy Birthday four times that day and suddenly atticus jumps up and says…Hey…I don’t like the no. 4…What say we make it five…So gayatri and meghna and atticus launch into another rendition of happy birthday…3 days post facto…Ah well..It’s good to feel loved…but I have a sneaky suspicion that they were trying to see if Gangotri would give us anything complimentary ….As If! ! !

"God Bless You Please....."

All resolutions to put everything else on hold and concentrate on studying for exams that are fast-approaching were abandoned immidiately post conception yesterday ,when I heard the opening strains of this song.

"Are you going to scarborough fair?
Parsley , sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me , to the one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine...."

A couple of weeks ago my dad bought a DVD of the recording of Simon and garfunkels' Concert In the Park (1981) . And of all the days , they had to choose yesterday , the day I chose to renew all efforts to focus , the weakest moments of a laziness-addict , to watch it.

For god's sake , could they have just not stuck to watching their usual Friends , News Radio ...routine. The sort of t.v that I can insulate myself from. And not be drawn to.

And so , there I was sitting in my room , trying hard to focus on the probability of an electron being able tunnel through an 'impenetrable' barrier and other such 'complex' concepts and suddenly , I find myself singing . Well, singing along was more like it. I steeled myself to concentrate, and then looked down determinedly at my notebook only to realise that I hadn't written a thing in the ten minutes that I thought I was absorbed in solving a problem.

So I promised my conscience that I would only take a tiny break , just to get something to snack and take a sneak peek at what they were watching.

I walked purposefully into my parents bedroom ,the stride of someone who was busy and is annoyed at being interrupted. Then I said something redundant like "oh, you are watching the concert is it???" . As though I did'nt know that..Ha.

I declared to the world in general and to assuage (is that right?) my conscience..."Hey...This is My Favourite Song..I think I'll just stay a minute and watch this... I'll go after that because I cannot afford to waste anymore time . Got to get back to work."

Two hours later: I've watched the entire concert..Even the 10 minutes that I missed initially and I'm in the midst of having a heated discussion with dad about Simon and garfunkel and why they broke up and whose fault it was and how sad it is, about their new tour and how I seem to have shamelessly adopted my dad's taste in music , books and many other things.

(I resent that. I can't help it if my dad's older than me , has read and heard stuff before me and likes the same things as I do . But it's my own taste. I cannot also help the fact that he filled the house with music and books that I happened to like. I don't like it just because he does...I have my own senses and my own mind ..Thank you very much Appa.)

Basically , I think Simon and Garfunkel are cat's whiskers and definitely my favourites of all time. There is something about Paul simon's lyrics , Art garfunkel's voice ....The Boxer , Sound Of Silence, Homeward Bound , Mrs. Robinson , Bridge over troubled waters , America , American Tune , Dangling conversation, Old friends , I am a rock , For Emily ...and ofcourse Scarborough Fair...are the sounds I have grown up on .

I relate to them , feel stirred by their music and touched by their words , both of which I have come to know so well. Every song is so special and reminds me of some fleeting moment that it has inexplicably come to be associated with .

My earliest memories of my childhood, In fact , are of my dad singing Scarborough fair or Bridge over troubled water to me. Carrying me in his arms, he would walk up and down the room ,singing softly , trying to get me to sleep.

When I was 5 or 6 ,I remember, he'd come home early from work and we'd sit in his room and he'd take out his guitar and play all of these songs .I guess I learnt them way back then. And then there was our old panasonic portable cassette player. We must have listened to that one cassette that we had ,thousands of times.

Road trips , that was when we'd play these songs so loudly. (Dad is a believer of Louder Is Better) . NH-4 has resonated with the echoes of simon's lyrics year after year when we'd drive down to bangalore for christmas.

And now as I write this , their CD plays in the background.
I am reminded of the time when I first realised that it was 'whores' not 'hoarse' that Paul Simon was singing.. and that's when the lyrics of The Boxer made so much more sense. (It's my dad's fav song..) I truly fell in love with their music when I begun to understand the depth in their lyrics .

I have listened spell bound to the profound even philosophical words coupled with the haunting music , drinking in the sounds and drowning in it all. I remember this one time , when I first watched Almost Famous , The opening scene is of the kid listening to S&G , I think it was "America" ...and it was so haunting..I got goose bumps.

When I was little , I guessed I liked them 'cos I heard them all the time and my parents liked them. Now , I just love the poetry and the music for itself. For my dad , these songs take him back to his childhood .I can see the wistful look in his eyes and sometimes I think he is secretly proud that I have independently come to love and enjoy something that he loves so much.

More than anything else ,what makes these songs so special is all the times my dad and me have sung them together. In a time when my dad and I find it hard to let a day go by without having some sort of altercation , when I find myself wishing and longing for the days when I will be independent and out of the house, this remains our strongest link.(apart from a love for P.G wodehouse as well...well I'll save that for another post..lol)

(Assuming he's not too pissed off with me over something ) I need only to start singing any of Simon and garfunkel's songs and in a while , my dad joins in . Perhaps just humming or whistling along and then softly singing and maybe even keeping sync with me.

And these are the moments , so seemingly insignificant, that I will truly cherish for years. I wonder if when I am old , I will sing these songs with my children and they will see me wear the same wistful look that I see in my father eyes now.


P.S: You must congratulate me. I have successfully curbed the urge to post all of simon and garfunkels lyrics on this blog. I think they are extremely profound and so beautiful and if it was not for the dire threat of not being read by my few readers , I would. Perhaps , I'll dare to pepper my posts with them occasionally in future.Oh and If you are not a fan and are wondering , the title is from their song Mrs. Robinson.

P.P.S: Paul (McCartney)and Ringo , If you are reading...I love The Beatles a whole bunch as well...Almost as much as I like Simon and Garfunkel. Almost.

For lyrics and blah...

Driftwood in white water...

Like the walls of a dam that are developing cracks from the extraordinary pressure of water trying to bore through , I find myself straining to keep my mind and wits from collapsing. The intense urge to express all that is bottled up , the frustrating , pent-up emotion and thoughts is enormous. These thoughts that churn in my soul, going round and round, turn into poison with every passing second and make me feel as though I will suffocate and die . These thoughts consume most of my waking moments .

And yet when I put pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard , I just choke up and nothing constructive emerges from the misery.So I have had no vent. And the poison kept accumalating.

The cause of desolation is, as always ,manifold. In my case,it is seemingly insignificant . What I mean is , it pales in comparison to the myriad trials that so many people must endure . The feeling of being on the verge of being defeated is so revolting and yet it is something I cannot seem to help. Like free falling from the top of a high cliff. Enough time to think , Enough time to realise that you are just going down and there is nothing whatsoever that you can do to change it. Worse still is the realisation that these 'trivialities' are capable of wrecking havoc on my life and that scares me more than anything else.

The sinking , sinking feeling. Like you are caught in a vortex , sucked towards the centre , unable to escape the mighty power that has dug its claws deep into your being and is pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss.

I hate it that I can be melodramatic. I hate it that I am fully aware that I am wallowing in the depths of self-pity . I hate it that I am completely not in control of my life and destiny.I hate it that I am starting to make other people around me miserable.

What gives me comfort is that I am in familiar territory. I have been here once before. And I have managed to extricate myself. So, I languish , while anticipating the tide to ebb and me to ride home the wave .

And so, I'm the log of driftwood that is tossed by the river's current and is temporarily at it's mercy ,in the throes of it's turbulence. (Ironic..Always wanted to go white water rafting) .The log never sinks despite being submerged on several occasions and it is in that hope, of emerging ,tried but alive , that I even consider waking up every morning.

Therefore, I allow myself to smile and pretend to the world because ,sure , everything is not perfect and I want to just sleep in most days and not see anyone and read depressing poetry in a room with the blinds drawn all day and all that.

And sure, for now my laugh is fake , but soon the sun will shine , the turbulence will pass , I will want to get up , and read happy , mushy poetry again , and I will discard my sombre mask and my eyes shall yet smile.

The Year Of Physics...And My Two Weeks

Albert Einstein came up with Relativity a hundred years ago. 'Came up' is really far closer to the truth than you would imagine. And he admitted as much. Creativity is what differentiates a theorist from an experimenter. The leap of ,what you may unscientifically call , faith. The spark that transcends what you can see . (Well I can go on..lol. )

And so, we celebrate that event as a sort of centenary of the birth of modern science. Much cause to celebrate?? Well, to many it is . Especially people who spend their lives furthering our knowledge of the universe. Since I'm hoping that there is some part of my brain that will cooperate with me in my intention of undertaking precisely the same vast and ambitious pursuit as the gods and geniuses that have preceded me, It is quite a significant year for me as well. A beginning of what is to come. (I hope..)

But only time will tell...

In any case ,at long last... The time to write. The past couple of weeks have been really busy. At first I was busy pretending to be busy , which all of you non-pretenders don't realise , is a pretty tough job. Convincing a lot of people that you are purposefully occupied and therefore deserve the right to stay out of class and yet get attendance is quite a feat.

All the time spent pretending to be busy and instead reading, going back home to sleep , listening to music etc. has to have massive repercussions. So, consequently , all of last week , I had to do all that I had pretended I was doing the previous week and all the other miscellaneous things that had to be done anyway last week..right before our physics fest. So I have been running round in circles trying to accomplish everything in time.And I did.

Now, I'm not complaining. This is the sort of situation , I am quite familiar with and consequently , extremely capable of handling. The only problem is that ,everyone else around me seems to get terribly flustered and therefore they try to interfere and/or lecture. And that sort of intrusion into my space is enough to obstruct my functioning on fifth gear. Again, however, it is something that I have learnt to deal with. I can hardly expect everyone else to keep calm when a quiz that is to be conducted the next day , is just beginning to take shape in my brain the night before.

But trust is what it's all about. And trust they must. For god's sake these people know me. Semester after semester they have watched in wonderstruck awe , my skills at negating the repercussions of repeated procrastination. My record , supposedly a product of a semester's worth of lab work , is done ,magically ,over two nights . And sometimes even on one. I think what annoys everyone is that I get away with it. That I am able to handle that kind of pressure. And the fact that they can't leaves them frustrated and itching to meddle in my immense capacity to work under extreme pressure in the last minute.

Well, I feel sorry for them . They do not know the joys of adrenaline rushing through their system . If you're thinking that I am not dependable and might be a horror of an organiser. I assure you , you cannot be more wrong. All the people in charge were blissfully unaware of my progress (or lack thereof.) and my skills at being convincing were employed to convince them that all was well and right on track. And they were happy. And now that it's all over and everything worked out just fine. So am I.

I did my fair share of fretting ,worrying and being tense but it is something that helps in the process. It stimulates the grey cells. A sort of inspiration to get one's butt moving and do something decent.

So, two sleepless nights in a row and I had the quiz and crossie (along with atticus..lol...give the devil her due) all done. And it turned out to be not half as bad as I thought it might. In fact , it was quite gratifying to have people come up and tell us that we did a real nice job. Ofcourse it could have been so very much better , but that's not the point.

And the crossie , I guess to a pro it would have seemed very juvenile..But it was our first time with crosswords , and sure , every clue was'nt of The Economic Times or The Hindu standard , but considering neither of us have ever solved crosswords before , it might be thought quite commendable that we came up with whatever we did. Ofcourse that is a matter of one's perspective. It was, however, the general concensus..and I was satisfied.

One only realises how much work goes into a thing when one is responsible for setting it up. Until then , you are critical of organisers, sarcastic when things are'nt going the way they are supposed , cynical about measly prizes et al. And then you find yourself in a position of responsibility and as might be obvious , your perspective drastically changes and you realise how entirely difficult and complex it can be to manage even a small event.Anyway , it was fun ,and I have learned a lot, even though there were several glitches.

The nicest thing about the two day 'fiasco' was getting to hear Prof. Balakrishnan for a bit...That was so nice.(for lack of a better word) Maybe more on that later. This post is as it is getting too long.

Note to self: Learn to enjoy being in the moment. Even if it means dealing with pesky juvenile boys.

P.S: I learnt more physics researching and looking up stuff to prepare for the quiz than I have done in the past two years. It has been a source of great amusement to my parents to find my nose in a book and me surrounded by more than a dozen books at least count , every night , for the past two weeks. Drink to that continuing is what they say..and maybe I should... lol

P.P.S: Have tried to achieve closure today, as rachel put it , minus getting drunk and leaving idiotic messages on answering machines. A clean slate and all that...Just deleted all messages , mails , phone no.s etc. in a fit of intending to move on and strengthened resolve not to waste any more time thinking about certain people. (Any other suggestions are welcome...).I think I should drink to that as well.

P.P.P.S: And since we are drinking...I need to drown my embarrasment ... Let's commend my dept. on it's wonderful Faux Pas regarding Prof. Balakrishnan. ...I'm sure he thinks we are the most ill-mannered bunch of people in town... I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me when it happened...Atticus and co. You guys , thanks for helping out with everything. Especially when I was about to lose my cool...One more round for that...lol..